#empathy now like. that's not changing and if you can't give that you're not getting any of my time energy or effort

[pondscummy]

real burn that bridge when we come to it hours tonight

[luveline]

Jade, if you don't mind, I'd love to see more of Spencer with a badass!reader who doesn't want to show much emotion bc it's a bit hard for her :)

Have a nice day<33

thank u!

cw graphic imagery + minor character death 

The gunshot is loud. It's deafening. It's deja vu. 

Spencer watches the body collapse in on itself with ears ringing, a pitching forward, a mess where a head used to be hitting the tiled floor. Barely a teenager, snuffed to nothing. You collapse onto your knees beside it, the sound of your knee caps connecting with the floor the only distinctive sound to his ears. He can't hear Hotch, rarely pissed, and he can't hear the sirens outside. He can't hear any of it. 

Blood spray on your cheek transfers to his hand as he remembers himself, falling onto his knees beside you, gore sinking into his pants. It's hot in its pool, colder where it's painted your face, the spray metallic as he swipes it away from your eyelashes. "Are you okay?" he asks, trying to meet your eyes. 

Your gaze is a thousand miles away. You won't look at him. He forces your chin up and it doesn't matter; you aren't present, no you behind your eyes. 

He applies pressure to your face. Nothing cruel, enough to drag you back to the present as his thumb sets about stroking a soft line, the only softness he can offer right now. "Are you okay?" he asks again. He says your name. 

You barely blink. 

"Take her outside, Reid," Hotch says, pointless EMTs creeping into the room. They're there to confirm death. Nothing else. "Just take her out." 

Spencer hooks you under the arms and drags you up against his chest. You're rigid, dead weight, and he has to plead with you to get you moving. "Come on," he says, his arm behind your back. 

Morgan sees the struggle. He has questions of his own, but all his off-kilter teasing and pet names fall on deaf ears as the two men help you outside and onto a low flower bed wall. You seem to snap back into action, then, breath suddenly quick and hands stretching out to touch your blood slick knees. You visibly fret at the staining of your palms and wipe your hands down your calves, a bundle of harsh movements. 

"It's okay," Spencer says. 

"Does she need a medic?" Morgan asks. He sounds angry, somehow. Spencer knows it to be a manifestation of his worry for you in your reluctant friendship. 

You turn to Spencer, eyes imploring. 

"No," Spencer says, "just give us a minute." 

Morgan squints. A minute, he seems to agree, and not a second longer. You're quick to anger, sure, but quicker to logic, and your shock is catching everyone unprepared. You've never reacted like this. Spencer has never seen you on your knees like that. 

"I'm sorry," you say, touching his thigh. Your voice is barely your own, thready and hoarse. "I tried." 

"I know you tried. I know you did, you have nothing to be sorry for." Spencer's reeling himself. They haven't had a case like this in years, and it hits the same. Another bullied kid failed by the people around him, who could've hurt hundreds of people, who could've killed them, and killed you. It's complicated but remarkably simple. "He was going to hurt you." 

"We could've–" You choke on something, some suggestion of a what-if.

You don't let yourself connect to people on cases. You have sympathy for victims, empathy, but you don't react like this. You're like Emily in that you compartmentalise everything you can. You've never spoken about past cases and what you might change, never even suggested to him that you think about your failings after they've happened, until now. 

"I don't know what happened," you say, your voice near whining, high-pitched and logged with panic as you stare down at your legs and cover your face, as though you don't want him to see you. 

You turn away from him. 

"It's okay," he says. He tries to be soft but his adrenaline is coasting, his reassurance panicked. You sound like you're in pain. 

"I don't know what happened," you insist, covering the back of your head with your hands as you curl in on yourself. 

You don't cry. Spencer wasn't expecting you too. You just panic, tensed, turned away from him, and flinch at his attempts to touch you. "Don't. I'm fine," you force out. 

"You're not fine. You don't have to be fine," he stands up and you flicker, hands pushing down harder. Spencer covers them with his own and sighs. "It's okay. It's okay." He drops to a whisper. "It's okay, you're okay." 

You're hard to comfort, but it's not impossible. Spencer isn't stupid. He knows if this were anyone else touching you, you'd have sprung from your makeshift seat or pushed them away, but he's lucky in that you seem to have this tender spot for him, a sweetness that never wanes. He drifts in closer and hugs your head to his abdomen, one arm covering your hands until they fall, the other across your back. 

Your job is your job, but there is nothing wrong with needing comfort after seeing something horrific. "It's okay if you don't feel how you were expecting," he says, rubbing a half-circle into your back.

"It's hard… for me. This is…" 

You don't finish. It doesn't matter. Spencer paused any action to hold you, his eyes shuttering closed, dumb to any sound beside the strange shudder in your breath as you catch it. You've always had a talent for removing Spencer from his surroundings; you've looked at him and snagged him out of time. He never knew it could happen like this, though. You struggle to fall apart and Spencer doesn't know if he should hold you together or let it hurt. 

Whatever you do… "I'm here," he says, rubbing your back. 

You wrap your arms around his waist. 

[waggledoogledoggle]

⚠️Spoilers for Hazbin ep 4⚠️

⚠️Also, this post will talk about Abuse and SA, it is briefly mentioned a few times throughout the rest of this… whole long thingy I wrote⚠️

⚠️Also, brief mention of the scene where someone tried to drug Angel⚠️

Ok, I am just genuinely baffled at the people who somehow find a way to hate on 'Loser, Baby'.

Like, if you don't like Huskerdust that's fine... but 'Loser, Baby' is not overshadowing/brushing off Angel's SA. It's not victim blaming. And it's not Husk telling Angel to just shut up and get over it.

Like I've seen it so much, and you know what? Fuck it. Welcome to my TedTalk on why it's not all of those things.

For starters: Husk doesn't know about Angel's SA

When Angel has his vulnerable outburst (Side note, props to Blake I mean, they said 'take 5' he heard 'change lives') he talks about how he feels like he has to act the way he does to keep Valentino happy because he stupidly sold his soul to him. That he wants to get drugged up because that’s his escape. That he wants to be broken because maybe, just maybe Val will let him go. He wants to be free, but he can't and he has no one to blame but himself.

"What's the worst part of this hell, I can only blame myself" is literally the pre chorus to his song (Poison), and that is what he shares with Husk.

Not once does he bring up his abuse or SA. If he did, do you think a song would have even happened? Look how Husk reacted when someone tried to drug Angel's drink! Now that Husk actually genuinely cares about him? Dead. Dead. Valentino would be dead.

We as the audience know more than the other characters. We were given the insight of Angel's true trauma.l that he deals with on the daily. You can't get upset at a character for not knowing something they would have no way of knowing unless it was shared with them.

Moving onto the song itself, it's a song of empathy.

Allow me to explain.

Husk pinpoints perfectly what Angel is feeling in this moment:

"So things look bad, and your back's against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feelin' filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world sober and dopeless You've lost your way, you think your life is wrecked"

When Husk starts singing, you can tell that Angel is expecting Husk to pull the whole "But that's not true! It's not hopeless! You're life's not wrecked!" and is very surprised when Husk doesn't.

Instead, Husks says "Yeah. You're right." And this is when a lot of the haters get angry- but hold on a second.

When someone is feeling all of those things, saying things like "That's not true! You'll be ok!" aren't helpful at all. That's brushing it off. Even if it may be true, that doesn't help anyone when they're feeling like hopeless, lost, losers.

Because that's sympathy, not empathy. Sympathy is feeling for someone, and trying to make them feel better. Empathy, is not trying to make them feel any certain way- better or worse- empathy is simply feeling with someone. And that's what Husk does.

During the first chorus, Husk is clearly teasing Angel a bit while doing so, but not without good reason. It's keeping Angel from closing back up again, he's being a little bit silly with him and teasing him. I mean, did you see the silly lil walk he did crossing in front of Angel? And Angel is super confused because he's like "how tf is this supposed to make me feel better??"

That's the thing. It's not. That's sympathy's job, not empathy's. Empathy just want's you to feel felt with, it doesn't want to tell you how to feel. And adding that bit of silliness gives Angel's vulnerability a chance to breathe and it prevents Angel from closing in on himself.

The next verse, pre-chorus, and chorus is when the empathy though really kicks in.

The next verse, is the first part of empathy: Sharing about a similar experience you went through.

In this verse, now that Angel is listening not just hearing, Husk shares that he has been gruesomely damaged. Calling back to what he shared literally seconds before the song. That he knows what it's like to sign away your soul, and constantly look back at it with huge amounts of regret. That knowing that moment is what turned him into the mess he is today, and that he has no one to blame but himself. Just like Angel.

Then in the pre-chorus where there's the whole:

"I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak Haha! And you think that makes you unique? Get outta here, man!"

That isn't Husk telling Angel to get over himself and this isn’t him undermining what Angel’s been through. That's him saying 'I did too, you're not alone’

And then the very simple word change from "you're" to "we're" in the chorus is SO FREAKING HUGE. Because Husk is essentially saying "You feel like a total loser right now. Ok. Then if what happened to you/what you went through makes you a loser, then I'm a loser too. Let's be loser's together." Instead of trying to make Angel stop feeling like he's a hopeless loser, he decides that he is too.

He meets Angel where he is.

Aka: ✨empathy✨

Angel finally feels seen, understood, felt with. All the goals of empathy. He no longer feels alone in what he is struggling with, which is HUGE! Especially for people going through/dealing with SA and abuse.

The bridge of the song, is also extremely important, because this is where they acknowledge the differences in what they're going through. Their root problem is the same, but how it messed up their lives and created the problems they deal with now are completely different

And that's around when the song begins to shift from just Husk showing empathy and comforting Angel, to them both finding comfort in each other.

Which you can clearly see by the chorus under the umbrella, where it's not just one of them singing the chorus, but it's both of them. Because they have found a place to go to and confide in, a place of comfort, with each other.

Like, I am genuinely concerned that people find this song toxic like... have- have you never experienced empathy before? Are you ok?

So yeah, to wrap this up, if you don’t like ‘Loser, Baby’ just because you don’t like the song in general? That’s fine (odd, but fine)

But if you hate it because it “undermines Angel’s experience and what he goes through” I…

words.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[generalhumancloudalmond]

Wonderful child

Platonic!Yandere!Muzan x Child!Fem! Reader

You were a wonderful child not only in the opinion of your own mother, but also in the opinion of your new father, whom you and your sister unconditionally accepted. But to tell the truth, first time your new father bothered you. He may not have done anything wrong, but you were a child with an incredibly developed sense of empathy and you felt every change in his mood better than your mother and sister.

That's probably why Muzan thought you were a wonderful child. You never bothered him and when it was necessary, you left and even more, you took your younger sister away when he was not in the best mood, which made it easier him to stay here.

That night, you saw how annoyed he was after meeting with a strange boy, so when you and your mom and sister said goodbye to him, he was leaving for some business meeting. You, unlike your sister and mom, didn't hug or kiss him, just wished him to come back soon and waved.

"Y/n, I don't think you get along very well with Muzan."

You looked surprised at your mom, who was talking to you.

"You hardly talk to him, I understand that you miss your real father, but..."

"No, I get along well with Muzan. He doesn't even mind anymore if I'm in the same room with him when he's busy."

"Was he against being in the same room with you? I mean, you're a calm girl and don't bother..."

"He didn't kick me out, it's just that my presence, at first, often annoyed him, and now he doesn't mind."

You smiled at your mom, calming her nerves, and your little sister repeated after you, your mom giggled. You really were a wonderful child.

However, a good streak cannot last forever and one day it really ended. Now you were lying in bed in terrible suffering. Muzan still hasn't returned, but his money was enough to delay the progress of your illness. The problem was that neither you not your mom had the strength. You couldn't fight with illness anymore, and your mom couldn't watching you cry and moan in pain, couldn't watching your medical analysis get worse and worse every day. Your mother couldn't contact her husband, and therefore she had to make this important decision on her own.

Muzan came back at night and he was furious when he heard that he had an hour to say goodbye to you when your heart stopped completely. Not caring about the force, he pushed your mother away.

Why can't this useless woman even take care of her own child?!

When he entered your room, he discovered your unconscious figure. You were lying on the bed and looked very much like a dead, but the demon still heard your weak heart. With his claw, he sharply scratched your cheek, giving a small amount of his blood.

At that moment, your sweet dream ended, you thought that the disease was terribly painful, but it was worse, much worse. Your whole body was bending in the opposite direction, you even heard the crunch of your own bones, but all this faded against the background of your cheek, it burned with hellish pain, and the skin near the wound seemed to melt.

Your little sister ran into your room after hearing the screams. And froze in horror. Muzan sat on your bed and held you in his arms while you squirmed and screamed. The father was calm, while you beat him with your head in agony, while he held your legs and arms. The girl immediately covered her eyes with her hands and wanted to run away, but the demon stopped her.

"Come here. Don't you want to help your sister?"

She wanted to help you, she has to help you, so she listens him and approaches you. You began to shake less, but blood poured out of your mouth.

"Dad, what can I..."

Abruptly Muzan grabs her by the head and begins to squeeze.

"Y/n will be very hungry when she becomes a demon and you will help her with that."

[rollercoasterwords]

hey guys btw there is actually never a good reason to loudly and publicly talk about how much u dislike a fanfic!! Like. let's break this down for a sec:

i don't like it

ok, understandable. i've dnf'd lots of fics because i didn't like them. but the people writing fanfiction are doing it for free and for fun, and you don't know anything about their lives. they could be a young writer just starting out! they could be an older writer getting back into writing after years of being unable to! they could be someone going through a rough patch whose only source of joy right now is writing their silly little stories! talking about how much you dislike a fanfic literally does nothing except hurt the person writing it. that's it. it is not productive, it is not necessary. even strangers on the internet deserve basic human empathy.

ok but i really don't like it

babe, i feel u! i'm a hater too. rant about it privately. shit on it in private messages or group chats with friends. u can dislike something without dragging its creator into the town square to throw tomatoes at them, yknow?

ok but i really don't like it AND it's popular

ok? shouting about that on the internet doesn't make you cool or special or unique. it just makes you kind of mean and, honestly, bitter. like i said before, this is fanfiction. nobody is paying for it. nobody is profiting. there is no standard that these writers are obligated to meet. clearly, other people like the work. why not let them enjoy it in peace?

no u don't understand it doesn't deserve to be popular there are better fics that deserve it more!!!

talk about those fics then!! post about how much u love them!! uplift those writers!! ur tweet or tiktok or tumblr post is not going to suddenly make a popular fic lose all popularity, no matter how undeserving u perceive it to be. if this is actually coming from a place of frustration because you feel like there are other fics that deserve more attention, then just give those fics attention.

no but it's problematic

mmm ok. let's sit with this one for a second. i want you to ask yourself--is it really, really problematic? is it perpetuating harm against a marginalized group? remember, this is fanfic; it is outside the consumer economy, and the stories it tells will almost never make it to a mainstream audience. so is the story actually hurting people, or is the author just exploring something that you're uncomfortable with? because if you're just uncomfortable, then assuming the work is tagged properly, the best course of action is to just click away. as uncomfortable as it may be, people are allowed to write stories that you might find upsetting or gross or weird, and those stories existing is not inherently harmful in and of itself.

it is actively reinforcing harmful stereotypes/rhetoric/etc

okay! ok. if you are deeply concerned because you feel that this fic is genuinely harmful, then go to the writer. leave a comment. send them a message on tumblr or twitter or tiktok or wherever. explain your situation and see what they say! nine times out of ten, i'd bet that an ao3 writer means no harm and would be willing to listen and address your concerns. in fact, they might even be grateful to you for being kind enough to make them aware of a problem and educate them on it. every ao3 writer i've ever spoken to is an incredibly kind and thoughtful person; you don't need to immediately go on the attack

the writer is unreachable/nonresponsive/not willing to address or change the problematic thing

alright. if you truly feel that this fanfiction is actively harmful and can't reach any kind of conclusion with the writer, and you want to warn others who might read the fic, then do that. do that. make a post that says hey guys btw, x thing in this fic is not a good representation/perpetuates a harmful stereotype/whatever the problem is. and leave it at that! you don't need to go further and insult the writing or the person who wrote it. that is helpful to exactly no one, and if your goal is actually to make the world a better place, then you should learn how to draw attention to an issue in a way that encourages actual dialogue instead of dog-piling and personal attacks.

anyway the next time you feel the desire to post about how bad you think a fic is, feel free to use this as a guide before u do! xoxo

[randomperson339]

Anthropromorphization

(Xernalia, an alien, married to Thomas a human. She has found him hunched over cloth and scattered stuffing.)

Xernalia: Hubby... what are you doing?

Thomas: trying to stitch this teddy-bear back to life.

Xernalia: ...you know it's just stuffing, right? There isn't anything to bring back to life.

Thomas: Is that the weirdest thing I've done?

Xernalia: ...no, but I don't know how you're defining life here. It's inanimate

Thomas: yeah... but I feel bad now that it's all torn up, so I'm stitching him back together

Xernalia: Why do you have empathy for an inanimate object?

Thomas: probably because evolution would want me to have emathy for something that's inanimate than something that could be my mate

Xernalis: that's stupid, evolution should've given you a better way to detect the sentience of things.

Thomas: I mean, it did get me an amazing wife.

Xernalia: Wh-no, itt- not worth.... ahgiueaowjhBIEVUCybnowriadnsjc, how dare you say that's the reason you married me was because of some faulty neurons

Thomas: they're hardly faulty if they let me get with you

Xernalia: I mean- you're not wrong, but also. You're conflating several ideas.

Thomas: no, the "faulty neurons" are there to differentiate what is and isn't human, since you can't interbreed with non-humans.

Xernalia: but-

Thomas: yes, you can with genetic manipulation, but evolution wasn't made for to account for magical genetic engineering.

Xernalia:..........

(Thomas gives an affection peck on the head to Xernalia)

Thomas: yeah, I know it's stupid to get hung up about a destroyed plush, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I just didn't repair it.

Xernalia: What about the object puts such importance on it?

Thomas: *shrugs* I dunno, I just feel sad when I think about it all torn up.

Xernalia: so, it's like empathy?

Thomas: kinda? It's not sad on an intellectual level, but on an emotional one. I feel for the plush, but understand it's an object. And it doesn't have feelings.

Xernalia: would it change anything if it didn't have a face?

Thomas: probably.

Xernalia: what about a non-quad-limbed body structure?

Thomas: less so than the faceless version.

Xernalia: what about if it was a monster?

Thomas: I married you, didn't I?

Xernalia: >:[

Thomas: sorry, I just couldn't resist. And an actual answer would probably be... depends on how it's monstrous.

Xernalia: So it's about how... human-ish the thing is?

Thomas: roughly, yeah.

Xernalia: so what about a ball that's been left to rot? It was once used, lovingly, by a dog but it got lost in the drain and now it's decaying slowly at the top of a pile of trash?

Thomas: Xernalia... plz don't play with my emotions like that...

Xernalia: oh! Sorry. I- I thought you wouldn't get emotional over a ball.

Thomas: humans get emotions over a lot of things. I even got emotional over computers and satellites, which are very not-human.

Xernalia: so, you just empathize with... everything?

Thomas: yeah.

Xernalia: 8(

Thomas: What's that look for?

Xernalia: It must be so hard to live like that. I mean, you eat meat, right?

Thomas: well, it's different because I need to eat. Thinking about the animals is just something I try not to think about. Like everyone else

Xernalia: All humans feel bad for what they eat?

Thomas: I mean, not everyone, but that's the general feelings I've heard

Xernalia: so it's more... selective?

Thomas: Yeah. I mean, that's why wars happen I think.

Xernalia: so this empathy can both be given to anything, but also taken away from anything else. That seems... stupid.

Thomas: yeah, it's stupid, I feel like it shouldn't be so easy to stop thinking about people as... people

Xernalia: I think it's stupid that it's so arbitrary- you're here, trying to revive an inanimate object, despite it never living

Thomas: well, I was thinking more "I want there to be less violence in the world" not "I want humans to be more accurate in their assessment of sentience." You really want to make humans more sensical, don't you.

Xernalia: no, you're hot when you're nonsensical!

Thomas: Glad to know nonesense is hot, I shall endeavor to always put my socks over my shoes from now on

Xernalia: Not that kind of nonsense!

[madaboutmunson]

Are You Experienced?

Rating: Mature Words: 26K Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Warnings & Tags:

AO3 Link Team 117 for @steddiebang 2023 Author: @madaboutmunson Artist: @danadaria Beta: @house-of-chant Cheerleader : @atmilliways (unofficial but I am super grateful for your help so didn't want to miss you out!) Summary:

Everyone knows Steve Harrington, a local rich kid jock, the previous king of Hawkins High School. He's got it all, money, a respectable family, and chicks love him. He's even spending the summer learning what it's like to be a real working man before taking on a role in his Dad's firm because its builds character and empathy. Or is he something else entirely?

Is Steve a down-on-his-luck guy, stuck in a job he dislikes because his dad is teaching him a lesson, repeatedly striking out with the ladies, that his co-worker is fond of reminding him about?

Under all the many layers and masks, he uses to survive the day-to-day, Steve has secrets. The main one is how passionately he loves music. How it moves him in ways nothing else does, and he's sure no one else could possibly feel the same, until his Mom gives him $50 to spend at the new record store. Notes: I sincerely hope you enjoy this story and the artwork for this fic. I really loved writing it, and I really loved the Steddie community I became part of because of this event. It has changed me forever. You're all so awesome. Huge thanks to my artist who not only claimed my fic but also really understood our Steve's perspective in this. I can't believe how lucky I am to have @danadaria as part of my team! Also huge thanks to @house-of-chant for beta-ing my fic you rule! Thank you so much And also big shout out to @atmilliways who when I was getting nervous about my fic (it had been so long since I edited it (I completed my before claims lol)) gave it another read for me and restored my confidence in it! Thank you **********************************************************************

********************************************************************** It's the beat that got him first, or so his mom is fond of reminding him as she teased him a little over the foam on her cappuccino. A fond nostalgic expression washes over her usual business-like aura that mostly filled these private but public meet-ups.

Away from his Dad, essentially. Away from his judgemental outlook, away from his snide comments and homophobic jabs. Here, his mother was more his mom; they'd been doing this since Steve had been forced to find a job, and honestly, it's been the best thing to come out of this shitty situation so far. 

When he was a kid, they used to spend her days off together without him until he fucked that up for Steve too. The cheating. His wandering eyes, hands and dick meant his mom would leave and take him for everything he had, including Steve, but somehow he slimed his way back, citing addictions. He could change if his wife stood by him through his "sickness". The irony of reminding his mom of her wedding vows to make her stay after she'd found out about only the first of a long list of women he'd been banging was not lost on Steve. So now she had to follow his Dad everywhere, like his goddamn nanny. It was beneath her, she didn't have to do this, but she did. She'd be damned if she looked like she didn't try. 

Steve often wonders if that is because even though he hurt her irreparably, repeatedly, that some small tiny part of her still loved that pathetic excuse for a husband. They both would be happier if they'd just left him, though they never say it out loud, only in silent shared glances over dinner or when he pisses one of them off, and they just have to take it. Because now he's built himself a better legal team, and she knows they're stuck. But Saturday was golf day, and that was no place for a wife, apparently. Steve loathed him.

His Mom always offers to buy him lunch. Steve always declines. Says he's already eaten. He hasn't. He just wants to prove he can do this. He can work. He can survive. Then maybe his Dad would lighten up, stop busting his balls about college, give him a shitty job at his place, and then Steve would be set for life. Come to heel, fitting the mold, nine to five grind and staying on the right side of his trust fund and future inheritance.

Despite his eagerness for an easy life, Steve is the kind of guy that loves a challenge. He loves to prove people wrong about him, but carefully, quietly, because if he fails as he has numerous times, at least the only person who knows he was trying so hard is himself. But he'd be lying out of his ass, if he didn't admit at least to himself that it would be much nicer to live the privileged, pampered life rather than getting his confidence shattered multiple times a day, dressed as a fucking sailor pin-up.

"You were so funny, Stevie. Crawling the wrong way. Not being able to work out how to turn yourself around. Constantly bumping into things. Until, of course, you found your muse," She chuckles, and it warms Steve's heart because this is also something that only happens at these meetings. She genuinely laughs, and her smile reaches her eyes, making them twinkle like a starry, starry night. Not like the laugh at home, not the carefully curated laugh, the one that's calculated to not be too loud or too long, lest it irritates his Dad somehow. Steve had one, too for him. "Such a little dancer," his mom adds, nostalgia swimming in her eyes of happier times.

That was true. His Mom, Dad and Nanny all said the same about him. His Mom and Nanny with joy, his Dad with disgust. It was also true that Steve had lost his footing literally and figuratively many times over his life so far, and some of those times, the only person able to pick him up and dust him off was himself. But he had a secret weapon. He had music.

Lots of people like music. Some love it.Steve believed there was part of him that was almost a direct connection to it. Like he had music in him. Like the right song at the right time could plug into him and change him forever. Like part of him was controlled by it. He wasn't just moved by it physically, but emotionally too. He could put on his headphones alone at night, press play, and be transported elsewhere. Places, feelings, past, present, future and in the skin of someone else. Until he is swept up in it like an inescapable hurricane. Until Steve Harrington didn't exist for those few minutes.

"Glad to know I amused you at one point," he jokes and gives her a charming smile. It's almost natural, but she takes it. Looks around quickly before stretching across the table and squeezing his hand, and he feels the familiar paper push inside as she takes her hand away back to her coffee cup.

"Have you been to the record store here yet?" She takes a sip of her drink and glances up at it, "Looks a lot more modern than the one in town."

Steve pulls his hands into his lap and unfurls his fingers to reveal a fifty-dollar bill. He rolls his eyes, "Come on, Mom. I don't need this," he whispers, "I'm fine. I'm still at home. I'm making my own money. It feels kinda good, you know?"

Her happy expression falls, "You look tired, my little star." Her eyes meet his over the rim of her coffee cup. He knows how tired he looks, he sees it in the mirror every morning, and it's not from work. He is struggling post-high school. Things aren't as easy anymore. "Why don't you try the new place out? It's not far from work, right?" He glances over at Sam Goody's from where they are seated and is tempted, but there are reasons he's been avoiding it. "You know you are never happier than when you get to add to your collection. Tell him you got a big tip or something if he bothers to ask you. Once I'm home, I'll put my rollers in before he gets back, and he'll think I had my hair done. So don't worry." Steve half smiles and guiltily casts his eyes to the table between them. This will be their last lunch for a while.

"Thanks. If everything goes ok, I'll check it out after my shift." And he will. Steve tries to stick to his word as best he can, at least endeavours to be better than his Dad at it anyway, which, honestly, takes little effort. He pushes the money into his jacket pocket as she gets up, and they part ways with a small fond wave.  A hug would be too much out in the open, as if being dressed as a sailor wasn't eye-catching enough.

Steve returns to Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor and tags in so the girl he always seems to be on shift with can take her break. Her name's Robin. She's a little younger than him: Nancy's age. She's bossy, annoying, a complete nerd; she talks too much, she's in band, she takes drama; and she thinks she's some kind of revolutionary because she found a feminist zine one time. He gets the same feeling around her as when he's with the little group of dickheads that he always ends up babysitting. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Max, El. He'd never let on, but it's kinda nice. They can rib one another all day, laugh, and mutually complain about work. It's like a weird comradery. 

But what Steve really likes about her isn't the things she gives away with her words. It's what he spots in her Walkman or what she hums when she's working in the back. Sure, Robin will tell you her favourites, Madonna, Bowie, Culture Club, and Cindy Lauper, but that, as with most people, is just the tip of the iceberg. She also likes Patti Smith, The Runaways and Marvin Gaye. Steve managed to sneak a peek at the names through the window of her Walkman. Sometimes, annoyingly, it will be an unlabelled mixtape, preventing Steve from unravelling the mystery of Robin further. 

Steve's Robin assessment: 

Non-traditional values

Likes people who go against the grain 

Hopeless Romantic

"You're back early. You've got another fifteen minutes?" She frowns at him and wrinkles her nose, making her freckles misshapen.

"Oh yeah," Steve plays dumb, follows up with a shrug, and heads into the back to hang up his jacket, wash his hands and pick up his scooper. When he re-emerges, she's still leaning on the counter, frowning at him like he was the weirdest thing she'd ever seen. He gives her a charming smile back, "You can go early if you want?" Her frown turns into disgust as she pushes past him into the back.

"What is with you?!" She mutters as she passes.

"Ah, what is with me, Robin, is that I love the thrill of consumerism! Gonna beat my personal best today. You'll see!" He calls after her with a smile.

"I know you only need one phone number to do that, Steve, but I still think that's one too many out of your reach." She says in a sing-song tone with a laugh, and Steve rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"I'm talking about ice cream sales, birdbrain." He sasses back.

"Ohh, sticking to what we're good at, finally. I'm proud of you, Steve." She says, teasing him, as she walks back out, headphones on, giving him a salute goodbye.

There is a small influx of customers over the next hour, but nothing Steve can't handle, and by the time Robin returns, there isn't much to do except start shutting down.

"Well?" Robin inquires with a smirk.

"Almost," Steve replies with a smile, "but also…" he pulls a slip of paper from his hat with a number on. Robin grabs at it, and Steve pulls it out of her reach. "Ah-ah! Change the tally. I have a number." Steve points at the little whiteboard.

"Ok, fine!" She says with an adorable huff, picking up the marker pen, but as soon as Steve has relaxed, she snatches the slip of paper and reads over it, clasping her hand over her mouth, with a laugh, "Oh, Steve. Were they wearing a uniform or - or maybe carrying a net?"

"A what? No!" He says, frowning in annoyance, "This cute blonde chick with a perm. Linzie! That's it!" Steve says, clicking his fingers and pointing at the whiteboard impatiently.

Robin walks over to the board and puts a mark under the You Suck column. 

"Hey!" Steve protests.

"This is the number for animal control," Robin says smugly, holding the paper between her fingers and handing it back to Steve, who snatches it and races for the phone, punching in the number whilst keeping a locked defiant stare with Robin.

The phone rings a few times. It feels like forever.

"Hawkins Animal Control. No bug too small, no bear too big." Steve rolls his eyes and slams down the handset, tossing the paper in the trash and leans glumly on the counter. He really does feel like he sucks right now.

"Come on, champ. Your frosty mistress still loves you! In scoopfuls," she says, laughing as she pats him on the shoulder and thrusts an ice cream tub at him. As he looks up from his self-pity, quicksand. Her eyes are bright, sparkling with harmless mischief. Even though her teasing could be a little cutting, there was no malice. He can tell by the way she warmly smiles at him. A wordless check-in to see if she'd gone too far.

"For now. Until some grizzly pirate steals her away, no doubt." Steve rolls his eyes as he starts piling up more tubs to take out back to wash.

"Or you." She says with a laugh. Steve shakes his head and contorts his face like she just told him the moon was made of sponge cake and returns out front to collect a few more.

"No chance, not with these reflexes!" He says, spinning his scooper in his hand. She rolls her eyes, but her smile widens as she launches a sauce bottle at him that he effortlessly catches before impact, pumps his eyebrows at her and repeats, "Not with these reflexes." The forced sneer of disgust appears on her face again, making him hide a laugh behind a tower of tubs he's picked up.

He really liked Robin. She was easy to be around.

Closing time comes around, and they nod their goodbyes, at the storefront, after locking up. Like clockwork, her headphones are back on as she walks towards the bike racks. He already knows she's listening to Raspberry Beret.

Steve shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and feels the crinkle of the fifty from his mom against his fingertips, and his eyes move to the record store. They were probably gonna be open for an hour or so longer. He turns to the store's glass front, has a final check over his appearance and ensures his uniform is buried deep in the depths of his backpack before taking a deep breath and walking over there.

It's not like he hated this place or anything. It just felt like a betrayal to the town store that was slowly but surely crumbling into non-existence. The other factor was that all the people who worked here were school kids, apart from the manager. Cheap labour, he guesses, but it means he can never fully relax here. Can never fully let the music ring through his ears so it can guide him to his next pocket-sized plastic box of hidden treasure. Most of them were younger than him, though, so intimidating them was easy enough, though with the weather warming up, they were slowly catching on to how far King Steve had fallen, working just across the way. He tells them it's character-building, an experiment. He only told Robin that it was, in fact, a punishment.

He stands outside for a moment. This place is so bright and garish. Neon lights ran all over it like some fake plastic poison spreading between what he loved most. He can already hear something blaring out of there and voices chattering loudly, contending with it. He puts on his headphones, carefully placing the band so it doesn't crease up his hair, and pushes play on his Walkman. His ears fill with Nina Simone, and he takes a much easier deep breath as he walks inside.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free.

As the voice smoothly fills his ears like it had just broken through the dam of the day and swirls its way around his brain into what feels like every crease, he finally feels that special feeling. The tingle from under his cheekbone to his temples, and he can finally settle into himself a little more. Swaps tension for ease as his fingers dance over the music sections, flipping cassette cases or the large vinyl album artwork as he moves around the store.

That is until he starts to hear the repetition of something unfortunate, and it pulls him out of his oasis of calm back into his old, reliable, tensed body and mask. His name.

"Harrington!" The voice rings out, and as if to make a show of how annoying this all is, he slowly takes off his headphones and forcibly pushes stop on his walkman.

"Yes?" He says through almost gritted teeth as he turns to the origin of the sound and finds himself met with a set of hopeful brown eyes, a mass of waves and curls, and an awkward smile. Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

Steve's Eddie assessment: 

Loud

Grating

Obnoxious

Non-conformist to the mainstream

Conformist to the Heavy Metal scene

"Good to see ya, man. How're things?" Eddie forces his smile wider, but it is strained.

Steve rolls his eyes with a sigh, "Let's get this over with, Munson. How can I help you?" His hands land on his hips, pushing back his jacket a little to emphasise the inconvenience, but Eddie seems unperturbed, curiously; his smile grows toothy and genuine.

"Well, that's quite an offer, but I was actually thinking about the other way around." Steve's eyes follow Eddie's ringed hand that comes into view and taps the name tag on his chest, "How can I help you, Harrington?" He drops his head to the side a little.

Steve forces out an unimpressed laugh of condescension, "I don't need any help. I'm good!" Eddie's customer service persona falters a little to worry.

"Come on, man.  All these other twerps here are terrified of me or the younger ones, who aren't, get led away by their folks." As he gestures around the store, sets of eyes that Steve didn't realise were on them dart away. Eddie's eyebrows push together, "You know I wouldn't ask if I wasn’t desperate, dude. We're in the same boat here, you know? Please?" 

Weirdly the endearing look on his face wins him over, but Steve will not advertise himself as an easy sell. He pushes back once more for good measure. "We are not in the same boat, not by a long shot!"

Eddie steps in closer, keeping his voice down, and mumbles out, "I know you're working over at Scoops, one of my band told me."

"Yeah, well, that's just an experiment. If I'm gonna manage people and run a company, I need to know what the average worker feels like. So like I said, it's very different," he scoffs with a laugh.

Then something unexpected happens. Eddie shifts his body and his stance. Straightens his wiry frame to his full height, no longer slouching for the promise of Steve's pity, but eye to eye for a second before he's slightly above him, maybe an inch or so. He squints a little, carefully searches each of Steve's eyes, looks him over, and puffs out his chest. All too familiar with this display of sizing up an opponent, Steve mirrors him. Show no sign of weakness. 

"You know, Harrington. One of my first little tasks here was to take out the trash. I crushed up boxes and collected empty soda cans that my colleagues and customers enjoy leaving around the place, though the signs explicitly say not to. I even shredded the unsuccessful applications for the position I just filled." Eddie's lips are tighter. It's almost a threat. He's obviously seen Steve's resume in the pile. Probably laughed at it too. An ember of anger glows within Steve, but his outside remains cool. He'll wait and see what Eddie wants to do with his leverage. His stare bores intimidatingly down into Steve's eyes, "So, as far as I'm concerned, and anyone that brings it up to me is concerned, we can stay in very different boats, Steeeeve." He lengthens and forces his name through clenched teeth. "That is, as long as you help me out here."

They hold the shared stare for a few seconds. The surprise revelation must have made it to Steve's face because Eddie looks like he knows he's won. He shifts back into sales assistant mode, like shrugging a jacket back on, and his hands animate his words once more. "So, I can help you out in the store. I could even make sure that all my friends with the munchies know where to get the best ice cream in town if you need some help over there too? Some of them are a lot cuter than you'd expect. Whaddya say, buddy? Consider it a symbiotic relationship." His grin, reptilian.

Steve breathes like he knows he's going to regret this. Eddie Munson invading his precious music. "What do you feel you can help me with today?" His exasperation is palpable. Eddie claps his hands together with glee, and his accessories clink about as he, alternating leg, hops on the spot before his sly grin turns radiant, friendly almost. The rapid change is almost a little jarring but intriguing because with a switch that quick, one of these attitudes was pure showmanship, and to his credit, both were believable performances.

"Well, let's start with the basics. Are you looking for anything in particular today?" Eddie asks pleasantly. "Because whatever you're looking for, Goody got it" he laughs out the rehearsed store slogan. It seems like he is actually trying here, and Steve decides this doesn't need to be a totally painful experience. For himself, at least. He taps his chin thoughtfully.

"Hmmm, I guess I'm just looking for something new." Steve ponders, looking around, and he sees a glimmer in Eddie's eyes as they dart from Steve to a section further back in the store. 

"Oh, well, if you want the freshest sounds around, you've come to not only the right store but also the right man. Metal is taking off in a big way right now, splintering off into little tasty genre morsels even someone as…well… straight-laced as yourself might enjoy." He looks him over, his eyes zig-zagging for clues. "Maybe nothing too heavy. A smorgasbord of speeds and sentiment for you to sample. Maybe er…Mötley Crüe? You heard of 'em?" Eddie has linked his arm and is currently parading Steve towards the back of the store. "Now try to overlook the title of the album. It's much less scary than it sounds. I think you're probably a Queen fan, right? Maybe some Bowie, Cheap Trick, or other seventies glam stuff? Well, you'll hear in many Crue melodies and riff structures that they are as much influenced by that as they were by punk rock. So I think you might like it. Besides, they are known for their hair, just like you." Eddie lays his charm on thick, well, what he thinks is charming anyway. Strictly speaking, it is a little hit and miss in Steve's book; although he lets Eddie finish his spiel, which is honestly more impressive than he would like to admit, Steve already had the album Shout At The Devil stashed away at home, and he did like some of it, but it didn't move him. But something about Eddie reeling off some of his favourites like that feels strange. Maybe that's why Eddie got the job here. Perhaps he’s a quick study when it comes to musical taste.

He attempts to assess Eddie for himself. Everything about his outside screams of high-speed punk and metal. But things like Dio, Iron Maiden and Sabbath definitely lean towards fantasy, history and myth. Imaginative, maybe, but that felt too soft. So he labels him creative, at least. The way he could talk at length about topics, and he's good with words. Maybe that's why he likes songs where the lyrics are a real story, tales of dragons and kings. There are the obvious things too. The way he dresses, his haircut, and his rings, but also something else. Being around him feels like when a guitar gets plugged into an amplifier. Eddie is big energy, wild maybe, something animalistic in how he doesn't hold back his expressions. Definitely something predatory in how he loomed over him, but that could have just been for show.

For Steve, there are levels to this. There is music you can’t bear to hear, the music you are indifferent to, the music you enjoy, music that evokes emotion, and then the stuff that sends lightning through your nervous system. It moves you, even if you don't want to be. If he was going to help Eddie out, the least he could get for himself was a tidbit of insider information about the guy at the same time.

So Steve stops them dead in their tracks before they reach the Metal section of the store and lies, "You know, I don't think my girlfriends are gonna enjoy that too much, Eddie. Maybe, yeah, maybe something a little softer. You know what girls like, right?" He sees Eddie jolt to a stop, his head shrinking back into his shoulders with a wince, and he releases his arm.

He turns to Steve, tossing his hair over his shoulder in a vain act of cockiness, that this time Steve sees right through. He waits to see what transpires. "Of course I do! I just thought you were shopping for you. You didn't say otherwise, duh!" Eddie states defensively, struts back into the middle of the store, and stops directly in front of the top 100 chart singles, blinking a few times, pretending to be in thought, but Steve sees the swallow of nerves. "So, uh, what's she into? So I can, you know, make a related recommendation." 

Oh! This was an unexpected turn of events, and Steve can't resist tugging at the strand of Eddie's unravelling. "Oh, you know, typical girl stuff." Eddie nods at the hundreds of cassettes in front of him, his mouth a tight line, avoiding Steve's eyes. He had made an assumption about Eddie long ago, and as it turned out, he might actually be wrong. He’s a nerd, yes. Loud, sure, but he’s also a lead guitarist. They get girls, women even, throwing themselves at them, right? But Eddie seems very nervous about figuring out what girls like. He looks stumped. Steve doesn't know if that is due to inexperience with girls or chart music.

"Huh," Eddie coughs out, hand on his hip as he rounds on Steve, "Never thought you were a misogynist, Harrington."

"What?" Steve blinks in surprise.

"You think girls like a certain type of music. That's pretty sexist." The confident smile returns to his face as he feels he's found a way out of the awkward place Steve had happily placed him in. "Your genitalia or identity can't make you favour one beat over another, Harrington. Music is an even playing field. The industry itself, that's a different story." He sighs like he's some wise old sage and tuts at Steve.

This guy is slippery, but Steve could play this game, "Oh, of course. What I meant was music for romancing? Maybe a slow dance over a candle-lit dinner or a moonlight drive down to get acquainted near Lover’s Lake or Skull Rock. You know all about that, don't you, Eddie? You're a man of the world, right?" Steve leans into Eddie's space and grins happily at him. That's when Steve gets another win. Eddie blushes, not just a little either, a lot. Soft coral-pink patches hit just on and under his cheekbones. So much so that before Steve can comment on it, Eddie is kneeling on the floor, pretending to search through tapes, his hair draped down, hiding his face. If he was a betting man, he'd guess the inexperience was with girls. Now there was a new question. Was that a choice or not?

He stands up eventually and looks Steve directly in the eyes, and smirks, "Alright, then." He says quietly, "Wait here" Steve frowns a little in confusion but observes Eddie darting around the store until he returns with three cassettes. "Contemporary," he hands over a copy of Sade's Diamond Life, "smooth," he places a second cassette on top of Al Green's Let's Stay Together, and the last cassette on the pile, The Jimi Hendrix Experience's Are You Experienced? He shifts his weight to his other leg, looks down at the tapes and then back into Steve's eyes, speaking hushed and deliberately as if he were telling him a secret, "and some of the sexiest fucking guitar the sixties had to offer."

And in that one sentence, Steve is jolted, like someone just caught him off guard with a hand buzzer. The first two descriptions were statements, observations, but that last one…there was power to it. Not just his words but the delivery. Eddie meant that. An enthusiasm he immediately recognised matching his own when he thought about music or talked about it after a few beers, and he had to remember not to let his mask slip too far, but Eddie wasn't masking how this particular musical gem had impacted him. Steve quickly breaks eye contact and looks down at the tapes in his hand.

"You listened to all these?" Steve asks because Eddie had inadvertently prodded Steve's curiosity gremlin, which is clawing its way out of him. He needed to learn more now. Unknowingly Eddie had baited the water for Steve, he wanted to circle him until he got another tasty chunk, but he couldn't, not here and now.

Eddie brushes the question off, "I know my way around. Just trust me. And in the unlikely event I'm wrong, you can return them at my expense." Eddie waves his hand in front of them both toward the register. "Shall we?"

Steve nods, turning the tapes over in his hands. Maybe he could keep the conversation going differently. "What happened to your other business venture?" It's reasonably well known Eddie is the go-to guy for recreational substances for high schoolers, and Steve would guess that is relatively lucrative, so why on earth was he working here. Was he turning over a new leaf?

"Well, not that it's any of your business, Harrington, but I'm under advisement to press pause on that whilst some things get ironed out." He taps the registry keys with a smirk that indicates to Steve that perhaps it's the golf club and not the clothing crease-removing iron he's talking about. "If I'm not splashing around, other things can bob up to the surface, you know? Things that shouldn't be in Hawkins waters, at any rate." Eddie looks up at Steve and stretches his hand out toward him so he can give him the tapes.

He has occasionally wondered if the cops knew about Eddie, but as long as he kept things quiet and didn't venture into harder substance sales, they let it slide. An unspoken agreement of sorts.

"Found out about this place, and well, here we are," Eddie takes the money, bags the cassettes, and drops in the receipt and a flier. He smiles hugely at Steve. "I sincerely hope you have a great evening, and remember," he hands over his change and raises a finger in the air, "whatever you're looking for," and leans across the counter into Steve's space, "Goody got it!" He says with a bit of extra pout, and something about this outward confidence mixes with his potential inexperience and makes for a tantalizingly tempting cocktail of Steve's thoughts.

Steve pushes him back lightly, but Eddie laughs as he presses against Steve's hand before retreating. Shit. That probably looked weird. Nodding his thanks and goodbye, he leaves, and as he does, Eddie hops up onto the counter, calling after him loudly by cupping his hands around his mouth, "And if I'm right, which I know I am! Don't forget to tell your friends about the fantastic customer service you've received today!" Steve keeps his head down and walks out, awkwardly smiling at anyone who meets his eye. 

Safely on the outside of the store in a dwindling-to-empty mall, Steve stops holding his breath. His insides, especially his brain, feel like they aren't sitting correctly. Like they are just out of place. He unclenches his fists to cool down his palms, which were busily overheating, particularly the one he'd pushed Eddie back with. He tries to shake whatever this is off himself and decides to try out one of the tapes. He looks at the three. He contemplates trying them in the order Eddie supplied them, but he knows in his core what he really wants. He wants to know why that last one made Eddie's eyes sparkle like that, why he chose those words, and why recalling the music on that tape for a few seconds completely changed Eddie's demeanor. He outright used the word sexy, but it wasn't that. Instead, Eddie made Jimi Hendrix, one of the most famous artists to ever have existed, sound like something secret or forbidden.

He rounds to the glass storefront and forces himself to calmly unwrap and change the tape in his Walkman when all he really wants to do is greedily rip open the packaging, tossing the old tape into the never, and be plunged straight into whatever sorcery this album contained. He puts his headphones back on and pushes play. A few seconds of silence as he paces towards the parking lot. He doesn't know why, but he glances back into the shop. The doorway frames a kid, probably around Dustin's age, engaging Eddie in conversation, holding up two tapes like he's trying to decide, and Eddie is talking animatedly, pointing at each in turn. The kid listens attentively. Steve smiles to himself.

Steve's Eddie assessment: 

Loud

Grating

Obnoxious

Non-conformist to the mainstream

Conformist to the Heavy Metal scene

Likes talking about music

Might not be the awful person the town says he is.

Then, like he can sense someone observing him, Eddie looks up and smiles at Steve. Pointing to himself excitedly and then at the kid making her way to the registers and sends him a thumbs up. Steve sends a weak one back and continues his walk to the car. The guitar and beat of Purple Haze time his steps.

Steve adds to his Eddie assessment. 

Nice smile.

****************************

"Wow! Your eyes look more sunken than my shipwrecked spirit when I walked through this door," Robin exclaims, her lip curled in disgust, but he notes, with a hint of concern, when she turns up to start her shift. Steve leaning back against the counter under the hatch, starts to reply but is interrupted by a waiting yawn beating his words to the punch, "Say no more Nosferatu!" She adds, heading into the back to hang up her jacket, helmet and backpack.

Steve lets his eyes lose focus and dissociates a little from the blue and white surrounding him. It's been quiet all morning. He didn't even know why they opened in the morning, it seemed like a waste of utilities, but it usually meant that there was nothing to do except prep and clean for the first few hours on a weekday. Which was nice because it meant Steve had the place to himself and could drown out the sea shanties and chipper hornpipe melodies with whatever music he was immersing himself into at that moment in time. Today that had been the same thing he'd been listening to all night like it was his required sustenance.

He thinks a little about last night, on the car ride home, and whilst he cooked dinner for one, he sampled the Sadé album, this was dripping in that eighties sophistication of romance, and her voice might have been one of the most beautiful things Steve has ever heard. Then whilst taking care of some chores, he listened to the Al Green album, again an excellent recommendation by Eddie, it moved through the phases of love effortlessly, and the voice again was sensational. Not because the music is better, it wasn't even a genre Steve preferred, but simply because of how Eddie changed when he spoke about it. Steve saves Are you experienced? for the end of the night, when there is nothing more to do than sleep.

Taking advantage of having the place all to himself was different these days. Years ago, he'd maybe throw a party and have people stay over, but recently he hadn't had it in him. Instead, he prepares the area as usual. Turns out all the lights, makes sure everywhere is locked up, rushes to his room, gets a box of randomly assorted candles, sets a few out, and lights them. Last of all, he dons the huge over-ear headphones he's plugged into his parent's hi-fi system as he lays back on the plush rug beside it and pushes play. The beat like his heart gently pounds as Steve Harrington unwittingly falls into Eddie Munson for the first time that evening.

Steve startles at the abruptness of the hatch opening behind him, "Look, I can't not ask. My conscience is wearing me down, even though, just so this is abundantly clear, I do not care to know about your private life, generally speaking," Robin says rapidly, like she's chucking her words at him, before sighing, "Is everything ok with you?" Her voice is more gentle, verging on caring.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just couldn't sleep, that's all. Probably the change in weather," he answers.

"Oh well, I've cracked the case. That totally seems like the truth," she sarcastically says, shutting the hatch again, finally stepping out front, and standing directly in front of Steve, "I'm not gonna drag it out of you, but equally, I do not wanna work with the shadow of a person all day. So at the very least, if you don't wanna say what's eating you, go get a coffee and come back half-human before I get dragged down into the doldrums with you. It's contagious, you know, just like yawning!" She says and promptly has to cover her mouth to hold back a yawn, which also makes Steve yawn, "Ok, enough! Get out!" She says and points towards the store entrance. Steve obliges, pushing himself off the counter, slowly sloping off to the back to grab his jacket and leaving Robin with their obligatory salute as he heads over to the nearest caffeine purveyor.

As he walks, one side of his jacket weighs heavier than the other. The pocket that usually holds his on-demand solace, but today it contains a key that unlocked the door to impulse. When choosing his music for the day this morning, he reached for a mixtape that he'd made of some of his favorite chart hits, but as he opened the Walkman and saw the tape he'd been listening to all night, The one that he couldn't stop listening to, The one that snapped something free inside him, moments after he thought that maybe he and Eddie might have some common ground, He couldn't bring himself to switch them. He feels the temptation as his fingertips glance over the thin, metal band of the headphones to feel one of those moments all over again. He bites his lip, thinking about recalling one of those less-than-pure thoughts in the full view of all these people. They would have no idea. He looks around quickly like he is about to indulge in class-A contraband while waiting in line. 

No one else knew about last night. How his brain had been scrambled irreversibly. How the goosebumps had sprung up in a sprint up his arms, face and thighs. His imagination had not just run away with him but kidnapped him and held him hostage for hours. An entire psychedelic montage of his own creation. Traveling through kaleidoscopes of color, space, time, scenarios until something unexpected showed up, and as hard as Steve tried to bat it away, it continually returned, splicing his mental music video with clips of someone who had no business being in his brain when he felt open and raw that way. But alone in the darkness, safely in the arms of music, Steve let the thoughts develop, curious to know what would happen if he let go, let it happen, where exactly would they take him. But now, in the harsh light of day, that shame is still branded on his very bones. The heat rises to his cheeks, and though impossible, he's sure that if he doesn't do something about it, people around him will be able to tell. Be able to tell he'd been thinking about someone that way, all alone in the dark.

Steve quickly shoves his hand in his other jacket pocket away from temptation, and his fingertips play with something safe, boring and familiar. Money. Cold hard cash. The easiest mask Steve has in his toolkit. The furthest thing from music he could reach for. Icy, unfeeling, devoid of soul.

He reaches the counter, and the barista smiles broadly at him. "Good morning, Steve. What can I get ya today?" He's taken aback, sure he's never formally introduced himself to this girl before, but he's glad of the smile. A little harmless, friendly flirting couldn't hurt. It might even take his mind off other things.

"Whatever you've got to keep my eyes open." He tilts his head softly, glancing down at the counter and back up to the girl. "Something sweet though, I could do with a little sugar too." 

Her eyebrows flash, and she shifts her weight to lean a little on the counter towards him. "I think I know just the thing," she says with a subtle lick of her bottom lip, "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere sailor." Steve happily shakes his head in a no, and wishes Robin was here to see his success.

"Gina, huh? Thought your type was a lot more chaste, Steve," a gravelly voice to his left sends a slight shiver down his spine, and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole right now, but instead, he turns to return a polite greeting.

"Good morning to you too, Eddie." He smiles and nods as standard, but his eyes, the traitorous things, linger a little too long, scanning the eyes of the man that had been the cause of him having to buy this coffee in the first place. Eddie looks him up and down in concern, but his expression changes to something mischievous, and he grins at the floor.

"My recommendations worked out for you and your girl, did they?" He nods in Gina's direction while finally looking at Steve again. 

"Something like that." He replies, leaning heavily on the tattered edges of the truth, but quickly adds in a whisper, "It wasn't Gina, though." 

Eddie's eyes widen, and he chokes a laugh out, and to Steve's pleasant surprise, it's almost a little dorky. That’s endearing. Damn it, he's smiling at him more now. Eddie bites his lip, still grinning, before pressing himself up against Steve's side with an elbow to the ribs, whispering in his ear, "Steve Harrington, you absolute hound!" Eddie laughs again, his usual deep chuckle. Gina snaps a glare at him from the coffee machine. Steve dies a little inside. "Double espresso for me, Genie baby," Eddie charmingly beams back at her whilst Steve does everything he can to keep himself together and not explode into a confetti cannon of embarrassment.

"Eddie! Get in line, like everyone else. How many times do I have to tell you?" She snips.

"Gina! My angel of energy! My friend here was just holding my place in line. Isn't that right, Steve?" Eddie turns to him and smiles, relaxed, his eyelids hooding his deep brown irises that Steve elects to quickly look away from.

"Yeah, that's right." He swallows, and keeps his eyes on Gina now.

"See!" Eddie says, raising his ringed hand to Steve's eyeline to gesture at him. Gina looks between the two of them, but her eyes eventually land on Steve, and her smile returns.

"Well, I have no idea why he's friends with the likes of you, Munson." She puts the two double espressos to go down on the counter, slamming the one nearest Eddie down much harder than the other, which she gently slides over to Steve leaning towards him, "but whatever Steve says…goes," she says, her eyes trailing over him slowly.

"Jesus Christ, Gina! You never heard of the thrill of the chase?" Eddie barks out a laugh, putting his money down on the counter.

"Who says I wanna do any running away?" She smirks, not taking her eyes off Steve.

"That's true. I mean, even walking a few steps ahead of your pursuer would break the habit of a lifetime, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?" Eddie teases as she glances down at the money on the counter.

"You're short, Eddie," she finally turns and bites back, making Eddie shrink a little. "Ten cents." The fun wipes from Eddie’s face as he frantically searches his pockets. Tiny coral-pink triangles start to bloom in the hollows of his cheeks.

"I got it, don't worry about it," Steve interjects quickly to try and get back to the safety of Scoops as soon as possible. He takes Gina's hand gently and puts the money in her upturned palm, grasping her attention again. She puts the money in the register and scribbles on her pad, ripping off a piece of paper.

"A gentleman too?" She says with an approving nod and fans herself, making Eddie roll his eyes. Then, she pushes the piece of paper into Steve's hand. "Pick me up at eight. Wear something nice," she says with a wink before waving around the customer behind them.

Steve gives them both a smile and a wave goodbye as he heads back to the ice cream parlor quickly, sipping his coffee as he goes, though honestly, he doesn't need it anymore. He is wide awake after all of that. Even though he's come out of it relatively unscathed. Eddie is none the wiser, and he's got a date.

Back in the safety of Scoops Ahoy, Steve spies Robin slouching over the counter, waiting on a queue of zero people. He does his best Travolta strut over.

"Wow, you sure that's just coffee in there?" Robin laughs. "It's like you've returned a new man." 

Steve forcefully leans over the counter at her with gusto with a massive smile on his face. "I not only have a number but a date tonight at eight!!" He looks very smug. 

Robin stretches her hand out towards him, and he hands her the slip of paper. Her eyes scan over it.

"Gina?" Robin says in surprise.

"How did you-" Steve starts to ask before he gets cut off again.

"So she did get fired from the department store! Now she has to serve sad sacks like you and Eddie Munson coffee, I see." Robin nods behind Steve. As he turns, Eddie, holding the small cup to his mouth, initially looking startled, is perfectly framed in one of the windows and gives a little wave back.

"I'll pay you back, dude! Promise!" Eddie shouts before breaking into a speed walk to the record store.

"You bought him a coffee?! Why would you do that?" Robin rolls her eyes like Steve has done the stupidest thing in the world.

"He was a couple of cents short. I don't even want it back, honestly." Steve protests as he takes back the paper from Robin, putting it in his jacket pocket.

"You clearly don't understand what you've done," Robin shouts after him as he goes into the back to reclaim the stupid hat and hang up his stuff.

"Then enlighten me! Please, I'm waiting with bated breath here," he sasses back, secretly smiling to himself, only for it to be wiped from his face quickly as the hatch opens abruptly.

"Ok, first of all, you don't understand the paying back thing because you've never been poor, Steve. So it's ten cents to you. It's shame on us, ok? Secondly, you've fed the neighborhood's stray cat by randomly buying Eddie that coffee! He'll keep coming round here now," Robin whines.

"Ok, first of all," he mimics her, "I didn't buy him anything. He put his own money down. I just gave the extra few cents. Why is it so bad if he comes around here, anyway? He doesn't seem so bad to me, Rob." Steve adjusts his hat in the mirror and shoots a finger gun at himself in acknowledgement that he hadn't been wearing the hat when he got Gina's number, so it must be the thing throwing off his game. He also realizes it's the first time he's shortened her name. He likes it.

"You want a satanic cult leader. In our ice cream shop, normally full of vulnerable kids?" Robin protests, and suddenly something dawns on Steve.

"And, since when do you care about our customers?" Steve asks, joining her out front, one hand on his hip and the other on the tiny coffee cup. He narrows his eyes at her, looking for tells. He finds none but calls her bluff. He feigns surprise and laughs, "Oh my god, is he your ex or something?! Is that why you don't want him hanging around here?"

Robin recoils violently. "Oh my god! No! He's not my type."

"Really?" Steve asks with genuine surprise. Eddie was a non-conformist. He was far from ugly. Both musicians, both took drama and liked accessories. But, maybe he was a bit too rough around the edges and loud for Robin, despite how feisty she could be herself.

"Yes! Really!" She protests again, but there is something else here. Robin doesn't make it a habit to judge anyone that isn't a real piece of work type asshole, and though Eddie could be overwhelming, in their short interaction yesterday, he'd seemed quite nice, and due to their mutual school activities, they must have crossed paths often, so she must have seen that side of him too. Unless, like Steve, Eddie had his own mask to survive high school, which made him generally unpleasant to most people, and only let a select few see his genuine parts.

Steve isn't sure that Robin is precisely lying, but she is definitely hiding something.

****************

Steve pulls up outside Gina's apartment complex at 19:50. He's early, but he absolutely does not want to be late. So he waits exactly where Gina had asked him, and parks up, then sits patiently on his freshly washed car hood. 

As he had no idea where they were going yet, he'd opted for something smart casual. The relaxed fit navy blue blazer and slacks combo, and an oh-so-soft pastel blue sweater underneath, perfect for cuddling into if that opportunity arose. Robin and Eddie obviously had made their opinions known on Gina, but he was way too much of a gentleman to make any such assumptions, and people can change.

At 20:08, Gina totters down the steps from the complex in the shortest, lowest cut, tightest, dark purple leather look dress Steve thinks he's seen outside of a music video. She looks incredible. Her body is banging, her makeup is flawless, her permed hair is tossed over in a voluminous side parting, and Steve cannot believe his goddamn luck. Holy shit. She’s a knockout.

He springs into date mode, jogs over to the other side of the street and offers her the crook of his elbow to escort her to the car, "Hey Gina, You look incredible!" Steve greets her beaming proudly.

She pops a chewing gum between her cherry-red lips and says, "You don't look so bad yourself, handsome." At that morsel of praise, Steve's heart soars. He's got it right tonight.

As she takes his arm, and they walk over to the car, he opens the door for her and takes her hand to help her into her seat before he gets in himself, "So, where to?" He asks with a huge smile.

"Ah, well, I thought we'd go to Patty's house party. It's not too far from here. Unless you wanna go somewhere else?" She asks.

"Are you kidding me?" Steve says with a gentle laugh and juts a thumb to himself. "I got the wheels. We can go wherever you want tonight." He turns and smiles reassuringly at her. "Anywhere at all."

She giggles, and Steve has to do everything he can not to rev the engine at his success so far. 

As Gina directs, they hit a reasonably long stretch of road, and it falls quiet in the car, "So… What kind of music do you like?" Steve tries, it was a comfort area, and it let him get a little insight at the same time.

"Oh, all the hits, as long as I can dance to it, you know?" Steve's eyes almost tear from the road to look at her fondly. She's a dancer just like him. He tries to not let his excitement get the better of him and pepper her with a million follow-up questions.

It falls quiet again.

"Is it, um, Patty's birthday or something?" He asks as she reapplies her lipstick again in the pull-down mirror.

"Nah, nothing like that. She's got the biggest free house. Plus, it's right around the corner from the liquor store. It's just here. Look. Take a right." She replies.

They make their way into the party. Steve grabs the bottle of wine from the back seat and quickly moves around to her door to open it and assist her before locking up and offering his arm again. It earns him another melodic giggle, "Such manners, Steve. Is this how you treat all your dates?" She asks playfully, and he knows she means no harm, but unfortunately, it's the first dent in Steve's confidence tonight. She already knew he’s on a losing streak regarding keeping a girlfriend. He tries to see the positive. At least she seemed to like him, and she didn't know he'd recently had trouble getting any dates. He supposes that could give him some kind of playboy status.

It has been a while since Steve had been to a house party like this. It’s rammed with people, primarily seniors but as with Gina, himself and Patty, a few recent graduates too. The girls squeal with delight, throwing their hands into the air as they greet one another, and Gina pulls him forward to be introduced, "Patty, this is Steve. Steve, this is Patty." Steve gives her a big smile and a nod.

"Looks like it's gonna be a killer party. Here, hope you don't mind," he says, passing Patty the wine bottle. She pulls an impressed face and looks over at Gina, raising her eyebrows. Patty's boyfriend gives him a nod.

The party is much more fun than Steve anticipates. Gina likes to dance. A lot. With a little more physical enthusiasm than Steve was used to, but my god, he is the envy of the room. She likes to show Steve off to her friends and kisses him so many times he loses count. She looked incredible at the start of the evening, but she might be the most beautiful creature to walk the planet with how adored she was makes Steve feel. Steve makes a mental note to introduce her to his Mom when she's back in town.

After a small succession of kisses on the swings in Patty's back garden, Gina excuses herself to use the bathroom, "I'll be right back, handsome. Wait here for me? Don't go running off with any other pretty girls, now." She sends him a dazzling smile and a wink, and the love-whipped puppy, previously known as Steve Harrington, nods obediently as she walks inside. Then flicks his eyes to the night sky with a happy sigh.

"Don't fancy the slide, instead, Harrington?" A voice grins from the darkness.

"Eddie? What are you doing here, man?" Steve says in happy surprise. He's still floating around on cloud nine. Eddie sits on the tree stump opposite Steve and lights up a cigarette. The awkward feelings around Eddie were almost all gone. Or at least buried. It was a one-off, just a mixture of unique circumstances. The shame was still in there somewhere, but Gina had eclipsed it all for tonight.

"Oh, you know, I was at the bar, and heard someone mention that one of my old friends was gonna show here, so I tagged along."  He offers the pack over to Steve, who declines and pops a chewing gum in his mouth. Eddie gives him a knowing smile, and Steve grins back and pushes himself on the swing a little, trying to channel some of that excitable energy somewhere."Going that well, huh?" He asks, raising his eyebrow as he pockets the carton.

Steve is desperately trying to remain cool, calm and collected about everything, but he's elated his losing streak is over, and what a woman to end it with. "Honestly, it's going a lot better than I thought it was going to."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks leadingly.

"Yeah," Steve says simply with a sigh, and that's when Eddie's expression changes, his mouth parts a little, but before he can say anything, someone calls out for him.

Patty rushes over, swaying a little, throws her arms around Eddie's neck, and hugs him. Eddie's face is a picture of panic, and Steve hides his laugh behind his hand.

"What you got on you then?" Patty slurs, looking up at Eddie and batting her eyelashes, and suddenly Eddie looks relieved and pulls out a few small bags of weed from inside his leather jacket. Steve observes him with confusion. Eddie said he was on pause dealing-wise.

"Thirty bucks for this little trio," Eddie offers with a toothy smile.

"Thirty!! Come on, Eddie, seriously. I can get twice as much for less," she complains and tugs at his denim vest.

He leans in and says quietly, "Yes, that is true, but I'm right here, and they're not right?" Then he pulls the same face he did at Steve in the record store. He knows he's won.

"Well," she steps closer to him again, and Steve sees Eddie visibly tense as Patty runs her hand up his chest, "Maybe we can come to a different arrangement, Eddie?"

Eddie clears his throat, and his eyes dart to Steve. "Oh hey, Steve, fancy meeting you here." His words are a desperate plea for help, and mischief swirls in Steve. Of course, he could just excuse himself and leave them to it, but something keeps him there, and as Patty turns, he sends her a little wave.

"Yeah, just out for some fresh air," Steve offers, and Eddie relaxes immediately as Patty creates some distance between them. She looks at Steve wide-eyed.

"Oh, hi again, Steve. Having a good night?" She asks nervously.

"It's a really great party, Patty. I'm having the best time," He answers genuinely.

She relaxes and smiles hugely at him. "It was really nice of you to come. Thanks for the wine and for helping Gina out tonight."

Steve smiles back, but he's a little confused. How was he helping Gina out? But before Steve can frame a question, Patty jumps ahead a few steps and answers.

"You're putting on a real show out there. It looks amazing. Though, if I may suggest, you are actually way too nice for her, so you might want to ease off on that a little." Patty enthusiastically reviews their date as Steve's eyebrows raise, and he blinks slowly.

"Hey Patty, how about twenty, huh?" Eddie puts a hand on her shoulder and tries to turn her towards himself, offering her the baggies again. She shrugs him off but fishes the money out of her pocket, her eyes still on Steve.

"Ohhh no," Patty says, overtly pouting her lips to indicate sadness, "widdle Stevie, didn't know." Steve stands up. His heart is pounding.

"Hey, that's enough!" Eddie says sharply to Patty.

"Oh, shut up, Eddie. Everyone knows she turns up to these things with someone and always leaves with Frankie. They're like Kismet or Kermit or whatever." She waves her hands drunkenly in the air. 

"Everyone?" Steve asks in a whisper, and his eyes move from Patty to Eddie, who is frowning deeply. Steve folds his arms, "No, you're wrong. You'll see," he says and takes off back into the party. He can hear Eddie faintly calling after him until he hits the wall of music and chatter of the house.

He looks around for Gina, moving swiftly between rooms, as the flurry of panic starts to set in deep in his chest. They can't be right. Then finally, he catches the sight of her perfectly coiffed hair and pins himself to the other side of the wall, so he can hear her talking without being spotted.

"Are you kidding me? He's not a patch on you, honey. Not nearly as manly as I like, you know? Just a good little boy. Not my big strong bad boy Frankie." He can hear the purr in her voice, and it's followed by a deep chuckle from someone else.

An invisible force punches Steve straight in the guts, forcing all the air from his lungs. The dents in the carapace of his confidence get a few new deep siblings as he dusts himself off and sets off to leave. He knows he should be mad. He should be angry. He should march in there and give them a piece of his mind, but he feels completely numb. What he does do, however, is stop by the kitchen, take back his wine and a random bottle of mad dog 20/20, and slump off to his car.

As he gets closer, he sees a silhouette of someone sitting on the hood of his car. The jingle of them getting off it abruptly and moving quickly towards him lets him know it's Eddie.

"Steve, man, I'm sorry. That fucking sucks. Are you ok?" Eddie tries to reach out and hold his shoulders, but Steve steps back out of reach. Sure, he's deflated, but he doesn't have the reason or the energy to be mad at Eddie.

"You've got nothing to apologize for. No one does. It's not anyone else's fault that I'm too dumb to know what, apparently, everyone else knows," he says a little glumly but finishes it with a half smile and shrug as he moves around him to get in his car, but Eddie, being the scrawny beanpole he is, slips in between Steve and the door.

"Hey, I get it. She got me too. Except, you know I wasn't as good about it as you are." Eddie is talking to him, but Steve is simply trying to unlock his door and ignores him."And you know I would have warned you explicitly if it wasn't you, you know?" That gets Steve's attention.

"What do you mean if it wasn't me?" He asks, turning to face Eddie, whose face is much closer to his than he'd realized, and it causes a mini jump in his pulse. Had Eddie wanted to see Steve made a fool of?

One corner of Eddie's mouth ticks up. "You're Steve Harrington. King of Hawkins. If Gina was gonna change her spots for anyone, I would have put money on it being you." Eddie says it sincerely, but it makes Steve feel worse.

"Ex-King of Hawkins," Steve says, shaking his head, trying to move around Eddie without pushing him away. He wants to leave, but he isn't mad at Eddie.

"And-and the way she was with you at the coffee place. I mean, I thought she was into you. Anyone would have thought that, man. Besides, she was probably totally into you, I mean, look at you, but this guy, this Frankie, they're, like, weirdly obsessed with one another, and then the next minute not speaking to one another," Eddie desperately explains, and Steve can tell he's trying hard to make him feel better about all this.

That's when Steve makes a new category of mistake. He looks up at Eddie's face. His sad eyes meet Eddie's big compassionate ones, glinting with yellow specks of the street light.

"It's weird, honestly," Eddie finishes gently, and Steve gives him an understanding smile back.

"Thanks, man. I get it. I'll be fine. It's just a big misunderstanding. I'll go home, get wasted, and pass out. Then, wake up, and start over. I've bounced back from worse," Steve assures and gives Eddie a playful thump on the shoulder. "You're alright, you know that?" Steve actually manages a small genuine smile as he allows himself to compliment Eddie.

"Do you want some company? I got treats!" Eddie says, holding up three little bags of weed at Steve.

"How many of those do you have on you?" Steve huffs out a little laugh, and Eddie's smile widens.

"Just these three," Eddie smirks, pocketing them again.

"No, you sold three to Patty," Steve corrects him. Eddie leans back against Steve's car door and makes a show of looking thoughtful for a moment before he clicks his fingers like he remembers something.

"Oh darn it. I must have accidentally given her my bags of oregano. Good job you're so astute, Harrington. Otherwise, dinner times next week would have been very interesting." Eddie smiles mischievously, and Steve erupts with a laugh.

"You didn't!" He says, scandalized.

"I wasn't going to until she poked fun at you. Totally uncalled for. Also might have relieved myself in an empty and dropped it in their vat of punch." Eddie shrugs like it's nothing and then blinks up at Steve. "Is that enough to gain entry to a much better afterparty?"

That thing that snapped free in Steve when he was lying on the rug, immersed in the music and thoughts inspired by Eddie, vibrates within him. 

He shouldn't.

He really shouldn't invite anyone back to his house when he feels like this, especially when his intention is to drink himself into forgetting all about Gina.

He absolutely shouldn't let down his guard to someone he's really only got to know the last few days.

He definitely shouldn't specifically welcome the man that resurrected the most secret, sinful parts of Steve into his home, where they would be alone together.

Steve can't decide, so he lets fate decide. "You got any more recommendations on you?"

"Shit, yeah! A fucking van full!" Eddie says enthusiastically.

And with that, Steve ignores every warning sign his brain throws up at him.

"Alright then. Follow me."

************

Eddie's van tails Steve's BMW along the inky black roads of Hawkins, intermittently interrupted by street lights when venturing through a more built-up area.

He turns up the radio a little to try to quieten the confused knot of feelings in his stomach. There was no question he was still feeling shockwaves from recently being absolutely crushed this evening, but now the excitement of something else tickles at the inside of his stomach. Him, Eddie and Music. Some of his private salacious thoughts rush through his mind again. 

Steve would be more alarmed by them if it weren't for a few things. 

Firstly this is not the first time Steve has had impure thoughts about a man. It just wasn't something he was gonna advertise in small-town Hawkins. Especially as he is one hundred per cent not just into guys. He'd sneakily read about it in the library and vowed as soon as he had the means it was definitely the big city for him, a place where other people like him could live much freer lives.

Secondly, he had heard things about Eddie, and he is sure it was because they labeled him a devil worshiper or monster that the town also whispered about him being into the more, what some of the stuck-up people of Hawkins might consider the debauched side of life. He'd heard that when people threw homophobic slurs at him, he played up to them. Flirted with his persecutors to scare people more, but honestly, he had just added that to the massive pile of slanderous gossip about Eddie. Prior to yesterday, he had always assumed that by being in a band, Eddie got his fair share of women. But now he wasn't so sure. Maybe tonight, he'd find out.

Thirdly the only person Steve knew of that had ever assumed him to be anything but straight was his father. So if that rumor started, Steve is confident he could squash it reasonably quickly.

Fourth, and this was probably the cruelest of his thoughts. If he did accidentally say too much or give something away to Eddie tonight, who on earth would believe known degenerate Eddie over golden boy Steve?

Steve had fooled around with just one guy before, Tommy, and always, always, always when they were wasted or high. Tommy said it didn't count, and honestly, Steve didn't mind. He liked Tommy, well, when he wasn't being a complete asshole, but it was more an avenue of mutual exploration than a relationship.

Tommy was handsome, but he was two-dimensional. All their shared interests were superficial. Maybe it was because they had been friends for so long that there wasn't anything to peel back and get his teeth into. He was enough to quicken his pulse, but that had been more to do with the thrill of doing something so forbidden than the man himself. Tommy didn't move Steve. 

But Eddie. 

Eddie might.

With no other cars on the driveway, he waves Eddie forward up to the house once Steve parks up.

He grabs the bottles from his car and sees Eddie emerge with his little lunch box and his arms laden with tapes. Steve unlocks the front door into the dark house and heads inside, Eddie close behind.

"Your folks in bed?" Eddie whispers.

"No, they're out of town. Work, you know?" Steve puts the wine back in the kitchen wine rack and holds up the glass liquor bottle contained within, "Wanna get straight to it, or would you prefer some beers first?" Steve asks with a happy host smile. Eddie is still marveling at the house, his round eyes searching the darkness. Steve wonders what for. 

"Just a beer, thank you," Eddie says slowly, entirely distracted by everything.

"The hi-fi is just through there in the den, or if you wanna smoke, we can sit by the pool?" Steve offers, seeing Eddie's arms still full of tapes.

"What time are your folks back?" Eddie calls back from further away now, as Steve hears the clatter of plastic cassette boxes and the jingle of Eddie's wallet chain as he returns. There must be something special in that, having your own noise, so people know it's you.

"I dunno, not until next week, though, I imagine," Steve says, offering Eddie one of the two beer cans.

Eddie's eyebrows knit. "Next week? Are you for real?"

"Yeah, once I got my license, they stopped getting a nanny in." Steve laughs.

"Was that a joke?" Eddie says, laughing too.

"I mean, I tried. Unfortunately, I'm no Steve Martin." Steve shrugs and smiles happily at Eddie as he stabs and shotguns his beer.

"Who are you, and what happened to sad Steve?" Eddie's eyes narrowly playfully. He wraps his arm around himself as he observes him and takes a sip of his own can.

"You want me to go get him? I'm sure he's around here somewhere…." Steve looks behind one of the drapes.

Eddie's head tilts with pure amusement, and that nice smile spreads across his face again as he observes Steve, "My god, funny too, huh?" There is something in the way his voice softly wraps around the words that sets a slight panic in Steve, almost reaching for the light switch to plunge them into the safety of bright light. Instead, his brain gives him a subject change.

"Shit, what about your friend at the party? Did you get a chance to speak to them?" Steve runs his hand through his hair, realizing he's probably ruined Eddie's night too.

He simply shrugs in reply, then changes the subject himself. "What's with all the candles in there? Did your power go out?" Eddie gestures back to the den. Steve closes his eyes, remembering he hadn't cleaned up in there yet, and then a real fear creeps over him, hoping that he hadn't left anything else incriminating in there. 

Steve half-lies quickly. "Oh, ambience!"

Eddie points back at him. "Yeah, of course, your girl from last night. Setting the scene for seduction," Eddie says, pretending to swoon.

"Well, more for relaxing than romance in particular, but sometimes one can lead to another," Steve says, and he does let that hang in the air for a while to see if there is any reaction from Eddie. Sadly nothing to help him assess him further. Maybe it was too subtle. "Do you maybe wanna head out for a smoke?" Steve asks, turning to get himself another beer.

"Now that is much more my brand of relaxing," Eddie laughs, grabbing his lunchbox.

Steve catches up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Wait, how about you pick out a tape? I'll grab the boom box."

Eddie's eyes move to Steve's hand on his shoulder first, then to his face, with a blink, "Yeah." Steve shakes Eddie's shoulder and gives it a good old sports pat before removing it entirely. He watches Eddie's face for any signs, and he's pretty sure the smile he gives him before he walks towards the treasure trove of tapes is one of disappointed realization. Or maybe Steve had all his hopes resting on that being the case. Hope is such poisoned manna. Maybe physicality wasn't the way to get Eddie to reveal a little more. Maybe Steve could try something else to find the answers to his questions. Something Eddie loves to do. Talk about himself.

Steve sets up the player between two loungers and turns on the pool lights. Ambience, he thinks, though honestly, the waning moon is setting the scene enough for him. He doesn’t wanna make it too obvious. He kicks up his feet on the lounger, sips at his beer, and waits. After a few minutes, he starts to get a little concerned, but as soon as he sits up, Eddie arrives with an entire box of tapes and an excitable smile.

"I, uh, couldn't decide what you might like, so I just brought them all out and found a box in the kitchen; hope you don't mind. Just easier to move 'em around," Eddie excuses and thunks down onto the lounger next to Steve’s. "So take your pick," he says, gesturing at the box and pulling a pre-rolled joint out of his pocket, which he lights up quickly.

This isn't really what Steve wants. He wants Eddie to show him around what Eddie likes. He wants to hear him gush over riffs and lyrics. Tell him how it feels when he plays them, and show him how his dexterous fingers leave no part of the fretboard untouched. But Steve recognises Eddie's apprehension and decides to play the game at least. He reaches into the box with one hand, sorting through the tapes, and with the other, without taking his eyes from the music collection, makes a come hither motion at the joint, which, pleasingly, Eddie acknowledges without protest, and Steve soon finds it slotted between his fingers as he pretends to peruse the album artwork and track listings.

He can feel Eddie's eyes on him, and out of the corner of his eye, he observes Eddie's hands on his thigh and knee and sometimes, when Steve picks up or hovers over a particular tape, his fingers tense, possibly with excitement Steve guesses. He takes a long drag on the shared substance.

To Steve's surprise, the selection of tapes is more varied than he thought. Sure, there is a lot of what he guesses from the names, titles, or artwork are metal, rock, and punk, but there is a chart hits compilation, some new wave electronic stuff, country and classical. Steve hands back the joint and takes a sharp intake of breath as he sits up.

"You know, Eddie. I'm a little overwhelmed by all the choices here." 

"Ah, too many? Sorry. I just didn't know what you'd wanna listen to." Eddie nods apologetically, and something in the way he says it makes Steve wonder if too many or too much is his habit. Maybe he'd been hurt before by people telling him he was too much.

"Well, how about this? How about instead of this being about what I like," Steve looks up to him with a friendly smile, "you show me what you like. Maybe it'll be the same." He gives a little shrug and wonders if Eddie might pick up on any subtext.

"Doubt it," Eddie laughs with a quick glance up at Steve from the tapes.

"Oh, ye of little faith. I really liked the Hendrix one, best out of the three." Steve offers him a guiding thread to assist. He would continue about how he will probably play it to death, but as he looks over, Eddie's face reads excited already.

"Really?" He says, and the innocence of the question makes Steve feel like he's in middle school again. Making friends over sports or movies, but then suspicion rears its ugly little head, and Eddie folds his arms and leans forward. "Oh yeah? Tell me what you liked about it."

Steve doesn't want to give away too much of himself. "Foxey Lady is a fun track, and Fire." Eddie rolls his eyes a little and nods.

"You like Purple Haze too, I bet?" Eddie says a little condescendingly, and he's unsure if it's the beer and weed starting to mix on no food because he didn't know if he was going to dinner with Gina, but Steve feels a little insulted.

"Well, who the fuck doesn't like Purple Haze?" Steve fires back. "It's a great piece of music."

"Whoa-ho-ho, Harrington. Don't get your little panties in a twist. I was just guessing." Eddie chuckles, putting his hands up defensively, offering the olive branch of the joint back to Steve, who takes a pretty deep inhale from it and sends it right back, picking up his beer.

"No, you weren't. I mentioned some popular songs, and you immediately judged me, thinking that's all I listened to when that is not the case at all! Also, that's why they are popular, by the way, because they're great songs. So you could maybe get off your high horse about it." Steve complains and puts Eddie in his place. Or so he thinks.

Eddie's grin widens, and that sparkle in his eye returns, and now Steve can't work out if he's walked right into something or if Eddie is simply amused. His hand extends to him again, and Steve, though a little confused, accepts the smoke and takes another hit.

"I also really liked 'Manic Depression'," Steve adds much more gently, opening the door to his true feelings, a crack, "How it details in the words and melody his relationship with music, the emotion behind in 'The Wind Cries Mary', and that bluesy feel to 'Red House'. Those songs also easily transport you someplace else." Steve says, taking a glug from his can and, realizing it's empty, standing up to get another.

"Wait-wait-wait," Eddie says hurriedly, looking up at him. "Here, I picked this up on the way past too." He holds up the glass bottle that Steve selected from Patty's party. Steve takes it from him and sits back down, knocking back a swig and wincing at the taste and heat, but Eddie ignores it. He has other things to address. "What do you mean someplace else?" He leans forward over the tape box towards Steve, eyeing him like a scientist looks at their specimen.

"In your imagination, you know, the music takes you somewhere else." Steve shrugs, taking another swig as Eddie sips his beer.

"Where'd it take you?" Eddie asks, tilting his head, and though Steve's heart rate quickens at the thought of the truth, he sees an opportunity.

"You sure do ask a lot of questions. What if we trade? I'll answer yours, you answer mine? That seems fairer to me." Steve doesn't have to wait long for a reply, but he’s stalling to craft an answer that doesn't involve revealing more than he wants to.

"Yeah, sure," Eddie says, brushing it off. "So where did they take you, these songs?"

"Ah-ah-ah, Eddie. You gotta answer one first," Steve teases, and Eddie, denied an answer to his question, folds his arms. Steve adds to his assessment.

Adorable sulking face.

"Fine," Eddie pouts.

"So, the three tapes you gave me were great, exactly what I needed, and I thought, how does a guy get so knowledgeable about this kinda stuff, and then I remembered you were in a band, you play, er, bass, right? So I naturally assumed-" Steve lies. He wants to avoid coming across as knowing too much about Eddie.

"Lead guitar, actually. Sing a little too," Eddie interrupts proudly and waves Steve on to continue with his question.

"So I assumed that you must have girls throwing themselves at you? Right?" Steve asks with as innocent curiosity as he can muster. 

"More girls throw themselves at me for drugs than music, but that could change. The stuff I play is becoming more popular," Eddie replies, and Steve tries to see what he can get out of a few quickfire questions.

"Oh, so you're inundated with women then?" Steve asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

"No," Eddie answers.

"Right, you must have a girlfriend…"

"No. Listen, are we here to discuss music or my love life?" Eddie defends, and Steve feels like he must have touched a nerve, so he tries some humor.

He mimics Eddie’s hand gestures and voice from earlier. "Whoa-ho-ho, Munson! Don't get your panties in a knot about it!" And that is enough to make Eddie laugh. "Jesus, I was just getting to know you. After all, you've had a front-row seat to my car crash love life tonight." Steve self-deprecates and laughs, but Eddie doesn't.

"I'm sorry, man. I wish I'd just said something in the coffee line, but I swear what I said earlier was absolutely true. If it had been anyone other than you, I wouldn't have thought they stood a chance and warned them," Eddie says with genuine regret.

Steve takes a swig out of the bottle and reassures him, "Not the first time I got my confidence destroyed at a house party. Maybe it won't be the last, but like I said, I bounce back well enough. Last time was a whole lot worse. Met her parents, told her I loved her and meant it, and thought she did too. Turns out she didn't." Steve glances up at Eddie, who looks sad for him. "Anyway, back to why we're here. Pick a damn tape, Eddie, would ya?" Steve laughs, trying to lift the mood, and holds out the liquor bottle to him, but Eddie declines.

"Can't get too wasted. Otherwise, getting home is gonna be more of a challenge." He smiles down into the tapes.

"You can stay over if you want. There's plenty of room." Steve offers, maybe too quickly. He takes another drink to style it out.

Eddie looks up and acts all shy. "Wow, Harrington! Take a guy to dinner first," he chuckles and grins at Steve, who nearly spits out his drink.

Composing himself a little, he replies, "If I order pizza, does that count as dinner?" Steve smirks.

Eddie flips his hair over his shoulder with a flick of his hand after pushing play on the tape deck, "It's a little less than I was expecting to be wined and dined by Steve Harrington, but, uh, it'll do." He says as he grabs the bottle from Steve and takes a sip, "Holy shit, urgh." He grimaces as the night air fills with chugging guitar riffs, and a voice fills the air that Steve has definitely never heard before.

Eddie happily gestures to the boom box with both hands. "This is the self-titled album by W.A.S.P.”

Steve chuckles, “I know how to spell Wasp!”

Eddie shakes his head, “No you say Wasp but they are actually W.A.S.P.” He beams at Steve and taps the metal pin on his vest, then takes a deep breath, ”anyway It contains such mind-shredding tracks as The Flame, Tormentor, The Torture Never Stops and Show no Mercy, which has one of the finest dick-twitching solos I've ever played." Steve sees Eddie literally shudder, and he's drawn in immediately. This is what he wanted, but before he can push for more information, Eddie is out of his seat pacing around the loungers. "Also the more famous, 'I Wanna Be Somebody', 'Hellion', even a spine chilling cover of 'Paint it Black' by The Stones. For the more romantic souls out there, 'L.O.V.E Machine', 'Sleeping in the fire' and 'Animal' which is more commonly known as," and he leans right down to Steve's ear, "‘I fuck like a beast’. Which is what you're listening to right now." With a laugh, he takes another swing from the bottle, shoving it back into Steve's chest, and walks back around to his lounger, props one foot on it, and starts air guitaring and headbanging along to the song. Steve grips the lounger beneath him for dear life. He swears right there he's gonna get them tickets to every fucking W.A.S.P show he can, and he'll definitely need to buy this album now. Tomorrow, first thing.

"You can play all these?" Steve says, trying not to sound too in awe. Eddie doesn't look up from his fingers on the imaginary fretboard, and honestly, Steve doesn't blame him.

"Pretty much. Better at my favorites or the ones we play in the band." Steve needs to see that, or maybe that would undo him completely. Maybe best not to. Steve imagines how he looks on stage, sweating under the lights, straining as he yells into the microphone. "So where did it take you?"

"What?" Steve asks, wholly lost in his thoughts.

"Maybe you should slow down there, champ. Are you alright? You look a little flushed." Eddie stops what he's doing and goes over to his little lunch box, retrieves a small candy bar, and sits next to Steve on the lounger, placing it in Steve's lap. "Lemme see." Eddie grasps Steve's jaw in one hand and examines him, his eyes comically wide as he analyzes him, making Steve giggle. Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile, and taps his face, snatches up the candy bar and tosses it back in his lunch pail. "You're good." He shrugs off his jackets and leans against the backrest of Steve’s lounger, a long leg on either side of the part where Steve is sitting, making their legs graze one another occasionally as he sparks up a cigarette, which he balances in the corner of his lips. "Hendrix, where did it take you?"

The sudden display of open confidence, the way he just splays his long limbs out like that. Like he owns the place, makes something squirm inside of Steve, and maybe he feels a little shy now, saying, "I dunno, maybe it's lame." Eddie frowns as he plucks the cigarette from his mouth.

"I'll let you know if it's lame." He says, blowing smoke rings in the air.

"Er. It's difficult to explain, but sorta like things I know from that era and sound, psychedelic colors, and then like imagining watching it live," Steve's mind takes him right back to last night, "and 'Hey Joe' was like being pulled into a landscape painting, 'Are you experienced?' and 'Stone Free' was like moving through outer space, you know? Maybe I'm talking shit, but that's where I went anyway," Steve finishes, avoiding Eddie's eyes a little, as when he says it aloud for the first time, it loses all its magic.

"You listen to all music like that? I mean, go places?" Eddie mutters the question softly, and Steve chances to look over, and Eddie's expression almost looks hopeful.

"No, it just kinda happens sometimes. Like a daydream almost, and then I get these like tingles-" Steve starts, but Eddie finishes.

"Along your neck and arms?" And now Steve can hear the excitement in his voice, so he turns to him and indicates along his cheekbones, arms and legs.

"Yeah, kinda," Steve replies, and it doesn't feel bad at all having Eddie's eyes move over him like that.

"Do you play an instrument?" Eddie asks, sitting forward towards Steve now, his eyes eager for answers. Steve doesn't want to get his hopes up too high, but Eddie has not ridiculed him. Hasn't made an awkward face or an excuse to leave. If anything, he wants more, and with that power shift again, Steve tries something else. He leans back on his elbows across the lounger, his arm resting a little on Eddie's leg, and stretches out his torso comfortably.

"Eddie," he smiles, "I gotta get some questions in, too, you know?"

"Oh yeah, shoot, dude," Eddie says matter-of-factly.

"Are you gonna bite my head off again if I ask about your love life?" Steve asks with a laugh.

"Fine, as long as you tell me why you're so interested because I'd much rather be talking about music, honestly." And with a reply like that, it's almost as if Steve already has his answer.

"Look, in the record store, you were selling me that Mötley Crüe album, happy as anything, and I knew you were in a band, so my brain just assumed you were like a chick magnet, just maybe not the ones from school, you know? But then you got all nervous when I asked you about music girls liked, and whilst there isn't anything wrong with that, it wasn't what I expected. So does that explain better?"

Eddie looks a little sheepish but then smiles and shrugs. "Sorry to burst your Eddie Munson bubble there, Harrington."

Steve gestures at himself. "It's overrated. Living proof right before your eyes. Music doesn't let you down like that, though, huh?" And that earns him a sweet smile, "So tell me to fuck off at any point, but I sort of can't believe it, honestly. So is it that you don't have a girlfriend right now, or like never have?"

"Define girlfriend," Eddie says, playing with his rings.

"A girl you've taken on a date," Steve says.

"Yeah, I've had a girlfriend or two then," Eddie says, but Steve doesn't detect any fun glimmers of nostalgia, but that squashed one Hawkins rumor about Eddie, he obviously liked girls.

"But…" Steve leads him a bit further.

"But that was literally it. We just went to the movies or the diner for milkshakes," Eddie says, a little disappointed.

"You ever taken Robin, the girl I work with, on a date?" Steve pries a little further.

"Not a date as such. We just used to hang around one another a lot for a while, and then, erm," Eddie looks thoughtfully into the sky, "then I guess I asked her something, probably too personal, and I'm definitely not telling you what it is, so don't ask, and she's kind of avoided me since." Eddie looks regretful, and Steve decides to give him a break.

"I don't play an instrument. I tried a bunch of different ones but could never get one to stick. Even tried singing, which I'm ok at, but you know, not opera or anything like that."  Steve sighs and looks up to the night sky. "No matter how much I love music, I just don't have the talent to make or mimic it, apparently."

"Maybe you just had a shit, stuck-up teacher," Eddie says quickly, and that does bite of a lived experience. "When I was a kid before I moved here. I had this teacher; all he wanted to teach me was like campfire songs to do with god or nursery rhymes. I learned enough to find my way around the acoustic, but then, well, I couldn't go anymore, but honestly, by that point, I didn't want to. He sucked." Eddie raises his eyes to Steve, "But then I got here. Just my clothes and my guitar slung across my back and moved in with my Uncle. Now that guy taught me how to play. We figured out that I could actually, when not being bullied into some kumbaya shit, play by ear, and when I'd get stuck, Wayne would help me. He showed me all his anti-war favorites and even started off my savings for the guitar I have now. He got me a second-hand electric pretty quickly and amps. He's good like that. Finding the best bits of people and nurturing them. Probably regrets it a little now, though." Eddie laughs with so much fondness in his voice.

"I bet he doesn't. I bet he loves seeing how much you enjoy playing." Steve nods at the sky.

"If you wanted, I could help you learn guitar. Well, what I know anyway," Eddie says kindly, which makes Steve ignore the entire cosmos and focus on him.

"What, like what we're listening to now? Play like you?" Steve blurts out excitedly.

Eddie tries to hide his smile, "Well, anything you like, really, and I can't guarantee you'd be as good as me, but we'd try," he says as the repressed smile breaks out across his face, and Steve gives him a little playful shove, and this time Eddie returns it.

"Alright, you're on. I'll take a look at guitars tomorrow." Steve grins back.

"You can borrow one of mine if you like? It's no problem" Eddie shrugs like it's nothing, and Steve nervously swallows. God, he wants this. Wants Eddie. Wants someone who knows what he means when he explains how a song makes him feel. Who doesn't laugh at him or make a face and knows so much. Eddie feels like a drug that would be the multi gateway to everything he could possibly need. They sit silently for a minute or so, "The girlfriend thing. I, uh, well, I stopped trying because I'd get so nervous. The date would be fine, you know, I can talk the ears off of the corn harvest, but, uh, I'd just bottle it at the goodbye. I just built it up in my head too much, I think. I just wanted to get it right, and when presented with the opportunity, I thought I was gonna fuck it up, so I'd just hug them goodbye. Then they'd think I didn't like them, but I'm too much of a coward to admit I was scared, so I just stopped trying." 

"Well, you're not a coward. Navigating girls can be terrifying, Eddie, and maybe," Steve turns on his side towards Eddie on the lounger, propping his head up on his hand, "maybe you just had a bunch of shit, stuck-up teachers."

"Yeah, well, if kissing lessons were something I could buy, Harrington, believe me, I would have already invested heavily a long time ago." Eddie laughs, playing with his rings again, and Steve's so happy that Eddie isn't looking at him right now because he is literally chewing on his bottom lip, desperately trying to find a way to gently prod the opportunity the universe just chucked into his lap. Come on, Steve. 

"Well, if I'd known there was a market for that sort of thing, maybe I wouldn't have to be working slinging ice cream to attitude-filled kids loaded up on sugar." Steve laughs, looking down at and playing with the material threads of the lounger, and then glances up at Eddie subtly. 

Steve's heart skips when he finds Eddie looking up at him from under his hair, frozen, mid-picking at his nails.

"How many first kisses do you think you've been?" Eddie asks, and Steve can hear the curious caution in every word.

Fighting his every urge, Steve breaks eye contact to look up, like he's pretending to remember them all. He doesn't actually know. "Oh tons, and you know it is exactly what you said. It's all just nerves. Most of them get much better once the first one's over. Probably the same as the first time you played on stage. I'm guessing here, but you probably still get a little nervous now, but not enough to stop you, right?" Eddie makes a thoughtful noise in response, and Steve hopes he's done enough leading, but all he really wants is a red or green light to let him know what to do next, but they're sort of stuck in a kind of limbo, and he can feel the tension in him, stretching, and any minute now it's just going to snap. "I think you'll find it easy once you get past the nerves, sure there are some dos and don'ts, but, it's mostly playing it by ear, reading the other person, and from what you've said, those things come easily to you, right?"

"Right." Eddie agrees, "How did you learn, or did it just happen organically, like when it's supposed to?" Steve almost feels a little sorry for him, and he could tell the truth here, that it had just naturally occurred sitting on the porch with his middle school girlfriend watching the sunset, or he could bend the truth a little, maybe making Eddie feel better and nudge at this situation simultaneously.

Steve readjusts his position. He sits up and straddles the lounger, mirroring Eddie, facing one another. "If I tell you, you are absolutely sworn to secrecy. Ok? Like to the grave!" Steve says as seriously as he can, and Eddie perks up. His eyes revert to an excited look as they scan Steve, hungry for secrets, with a couple of enthusiastic nods. "No, you gotta swear. I mean it! I'd never live it down." Steve lays it on thick as he looks Eddie right in the eyes.

He frowns slightly to show his earnestness, "I swear, man. I would never tell. Also, even if I wanted to, that would involve exposing myself too. Why was I talking about first kisses with Steve Harrington in the first place, right?"

"Yeah," Steve makes a show of relaxing a little, and Eddie shuffles forward a little, leaning into the secret. "So believe it or not, before my first kiss, I was much like yourself, nervous about it, and I was talking to my best friend about it, and they felt the same, so we kinda, uh, practiced with one another?"

Eddie deflates a little. "Oh, I see. Well, that's not so bad. Handy to have a willing girlfriend around to help out." Eddie forces an awkward laugh.

"It wasn't my girlfriend, Eddie. It was my best friend," Steve says, hammering down each word like the heaviest hints of all time.

"You know what I mean, a friend who's a girl," Eddie says, and Steve really doesn't want to have to spell it out, but it looks like he might have to. He adds to his Eddie assessment.

Intelligent but can't read between the lines.

"I've not had a girl best friend since kindergarten, Eddie." Steve tries again.

Eddie looks horrified. "You were kissing in kindergarten? Jesus! Way to make me feel even worse about all of…" and then he stalls, like his brain engine full on cuts out. His eyes move around the lounger in between them like he's solving the meaning of life, and suddenly his head lifts, and his eyes lock with Steve's, "Your first kiss wasn't with a girl? I-I mean…your friend…it was a boy. The one you practiced kissing with was a boy. A boy?" Steve can't hold back his laughter and just nods, putting a hand on either side of his own face like he's mortified.

"Please don't tell anyone, Eddie. I just wanted you to know, as much as it would appear, I'm pretty confident in that department now. I was just as nervous as you once." Steve smiles, and his heart is pounding hard. It was a risk. A big one, but if it meant either squashing this crush or the impossibility that maybe this could happen, he needed to take it. 

"Right, ok," Eddie says, and it makes Steve a little concerned because he sounds a little panicked. Steve's heart sinks.

"Want another beer? I'm gonna go get one," Steve says, using his chipper customer service mask. He makes sure to smile big at Eddie like he isn't getting his heart crushed for the second time this evening, though this time is entirely his fault.

"Yeah, I could go for another beer," Eddie says without looking at Steve. Well, at least he didn't want to leave immediately. That was one good thing, Steve thinks as he walks as casually as possible to the fridge, ducks his head inside it, and curses.

"Shit!" He whispers and takes a deep breath before grabbing two cans. Then he hears a faint jingle.

"Is it much different?" Eddie's voice comes from the dark of the kitchen, and the rate at which Steve's head lifts makes him bang it on the refrigerator.

Steve rubs his head. "Jesus Christ, dude. Don't sneak up on me like that." He hands the can to Eddie and heads out to the pool again, but Eddie stops him, a gentle hand on his arm.

"Is there much difference between the two?" At first, Steve is confused, maybe from the jump scare or the bump to his head, but then he catches on.

"Erm…I dunno. It wasn't really a side-by-side comparison, and we were a lot younger then, but no, I don't remember anything being too different. Other than the person, but then you can kiss two girls, and they can be different too. Not everyone likes the same things, but like I say, you'll read that easy enough, or they'll let you know if they like or don't like something." It's dark in here, but he can still read the confusion on Eddie's face. "It would be kinda like you teaching guitar students to play the same song. They might all have different guitars. Some might have favored acoustic over electric, and some might embellish on parts, but it's still recognisable as the same song. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, that does make sense." Eddie's voice is much more at ease, "And even though you kissed a guy, you still like girls, right?"

"I feel like I don't need to answer that, Eddie." Steve rolls his eyes and puts a hand on his hip, making Eddie laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry. I forgot about earlier." Eddie chuckles.

"That's ok. If it wasn't for you, my night could have ended a lot worse, that's for sure." Steve says thankfully. "Your friend being in town was pretty lucky."

"Hmmm, yeah, that was lucky, wasn't it." Eddie's rings tap the side of his beer can as he sways from side to side a little, and soon, some things are coming together for Steve.

"There was no friend at the party, was there?" Steve says in realization, and Eddie smiles and shakes his head in a no. "You knew what was gonna happen because you found out that guy was gonna be there."

"I suspected. I didn't know. What I said earlier was true about Gina liking you. I also remember how shitty I felt when it happened to me, but when I got there, you looked like you were having a great time, so I went to leave but heard him in one of the other rooms, and I just suspected the worst." Eddie explains, and doesn't Steve's whole heart swell at such a level of sweetness and care. He barely knew him, but he still looked out for him.

"Thanks, man," Steve smiles fondly at him. Maybe other things were impossible dreams, but he feels sure he at least has a new friend, "You know what? I'm gonna take you up on your offer. How much do you charge for a lesson?" 

"Well, I thought maybe," Eddie scratches the back of his head, "Maybe we could…I dunno…er…trade expertise?" He suggests. It's a good job Steve had spent most of his life learning to hide his emotions when he needed to, specifically for moments like this. His heart is thundering in his chest, his brain is scrambled with a million different types of static, and his hand wants to crush the can in his grip with sheer excitement. Two days ago, this wasn't even on his radar. Two days ago, this delectable taboo wasn't even on his menu. It was on a hidden secret menu only he knew about, and yet here it was, being presented on a silver platter, and it's taking every ounce of resolve he has not to grab hold of it and greedily consume it quickly before the invitation is revoked. Oh, and he knows he's been bad tonight, a little trick here and a little lie there, and maybe he does feel like a bit of a creep about it, but it's not enough to say no. He was jonesing for something he'd never even tasted, but every neuron and hormone in his body told him he wanted it. No. He needed it. He'd let future Steve live with the regret and consequences.

"Sure. That sounds good," he says pleasantly. "When shall I book you in?" He says with a friendly laugh.

"Uh, now?" Eddie says.

"Now?" Steve says, a little surprised.

"Yeah, once I get the first one done. I'm good, right? Just beginner's stage fright. Then I can grab the guitars out of the van, and I can return the favor," Eddie says like he's working through the facts in his head, and suddenly Steve's excitement is a little dampened. Eddie wanted it over with, and Steve guesses he expected it, but hearing it out loud from Eddie kinda stung a little, but that was fine, right? Or would a taste of honey be worse than none at all?

"Yeah. Cool. Um, where do you think you'd feel most comfortable? It's your nerves that are the issue, so what do you do to relax?" Steve asks, and Eddie laughs.

"Well, we've kind of already been doing that, but, uh, maybe not outside somewhere a bit more private. But, uh, this is my first time here, so I don't know where would be best." He looks around for a second. "What about where you set up last night?" Steve gives a one-shoulder shrug like his insides were not currently leapfrogging over one another to see who could get a chug of that sweet adrenaline first.

"Sure. I'll tidy up my crap, and why don't you bring your stuff in, so we can pick a song you can teach me afterwards?" 

"Gotcha! See you in a sec, smoochy-poo," Eddie cackles, and Steve laughs too, out of excitement more than anything, but he's glad Eddie is making light of the situation. It's sneaky and underhanded, but it eases the guilt hearing him joke about it, even if this was going to mean something to Steve but nothing to Eddie.

Steve quickly tidies away his tapes and almost dies when he notices he'd left the bottle of lotion down here and quickly kicks it under a chair to worry about tomorrow. He turns off the light and decides it's too dark, but with the light on, it is too bright. He decides to light one candle, so a bit of light is cast around the room, but the main lights are all off. Then he tries to find the most casual standing pose he can, trying a few, realizes he's being stupid and then fluffs some cushions, just to put the energy somewhere.

The door opens soon enough, and Eddie barrels in, tape deck in one hand, box of tapes in the other, which also now contained his lunchbox, some fresh beers, and the partially emptied bottle of liquor. His silhouette stops dead in the doorway.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Eddie asks a little nervously.

"Well, I thought, if you couldn’t see me, you could maybe pretend I was someone you wanted to kiss, you know. Maybe that would help?" Steve says kindly. "I can put the lights on if you want. It doesn't bother me." 

Eddie dumps the things in his arms, W.A.S.P still pouring out of the portable tape deck's speakers. "No, no. You're right. This is good. I trust you to be the expert here." As he turns and walks towards Steve, the light hits his face, and Steve can at least see and hear he's smiling a tiny bit.

"Ok, so, here is what I think, and if any of it feels like it's gonna make you or is making you feel uncomfortable, just say, ok? You're under no pressure here," Steve reassures him, and despite how much he wants this, he does mean that. "I thought we could do it standing, and I'll keep my hands by my sides, just in case you are worried about anything I told you earlier, and you can just go for it. No judgment, and I'll help you if you want me to, ok? Eddie's rules," Steve says kindly.

"Eddie's rules," he repeats and steps forward toward Steve, who is busy trying to be as still and least intimidating as he can, but he can see as Eddie approaches he's shaking, almost vibrating.

"Are you cold?" Steve asks, concerned.

"No, just nervous," Eddie says, his voice trembling.

Steve lifts his arms slowly from his sides to either side of Eddie's shoulders. "May I?" He says, and Eddie nods. Steve places his hands on Eddie's upper arms.

"Look at me, Eddie." And those big brown doe eyes sweep up to meet Steve's gaze. "You've nothing to worry about. You wanna not do it. That's fine. We can try another time or never speak of it again. If it's awful, you've lost nothing. I'm not someone you need to impress with this, and I'm not gonna tell a soul for obvious reasons. You're safe here." He rubs Eddie's arms gently. "And if you wanna crank the music up, move me somewhere else, change the lights, or anything at all, you can. Eddie's rules, remember?" And Steve knows this image of those sweet candle-lit eyes looking at him for reassurance might be etched into his brain forever. He removes his hands and puts them down by his sides. "Consider me like, I dunno, like a mannequin or something."

"Alright," Eddie says quietly. He's still shaking a little but not as much, and it is adorable, even if it is a million miles from the wild rock star Steve had pictured in his imagination. It is stunning, nonetheless. The candlelight was a mistake. He looks beautiful in it. 

Eddie does turn the music up, and on his way back to Steve appears to be psyching himself up, pacing around and rolling his shoulders, like he'd seen plenty of times in locker rooms before a game, and he desperately wants to laugh, but doesn't want to shake Eddie's confidence. So he waits with the same patient, friendly smile on his face.

Eddie finally takes a few steps towards him. "Ok, I got this. It's just like mwah and done. Easy." Eddie speaks his inner monologue aloud whilst staring intensely at Steve's mouth before his eyes flick up to Steve's, who returns a kind nod. Eddie rubs his hands together. "Right, here goes nothing."

Eddie closes the gap, and just like that, Eddie Munson is kissing Steve Harrington. It is one of the most fantastic and agonizing things Steve has ever experienced. Eddie's mouth is so soft and pillowy. This close, Steve can absorb the full bouquet of his aromas. Alcohol, weed, tobacco, leather, pine, patchouli, musk, engine oil, a hint of gasoline, and it's so heady Steve wants to roll his eyes back into his skull and live here forever. He smells like high-speed rock ‘n’ roll, and Steve wants it bottled. And yet, at the same time, he's restricted. He can't reach out to pull Eddie closer. He can't deepen this kiss. He can't plunge his hands into his wild hair or explore under his shirt. He has to stay perfectly still for Eddie.

Steve unexpectedly adds 'Good Kisser' to his Eddie assessment.

This memory would always have to be Steve's secret album track. One hidden after minutes worth of silence right at the end of side B that wasn't even labeled on the album itself. Hidden away from prying eyes, only there for him when he felt like delving deeply enough, but he knows this is always going to be in his top ten. A mental polaroid, their mouths perfectly fitted together just like this.

Eddie tilts into it a little more, and Steve's every fiber is crying out to match his energy, but he promised he'd stay still, but he could be pliant. There is an extra wave of alcohol between them as Steve feels pressure from Eddie's tongue, teasing his mouth to part slightly. He obliges willingly but knows not to give too much. Eddie's doing the driving here. He tries to relax by forcing his focus on the music.

Magic runs through my fingers-

One touch you'll see

Steve feels Eddie's hand gently touch the side of his face as if instructed by the singer, but then he pulls it away quickly. Steve breaks the rules, puts Eddie's hand back on his face, and pats it. Trying to let him know it's ok, but Eddie pulls away entirely. However, he keeps the distance minimal. The smile on his face is enormous, and Steve mirrors it. 

Steve wants to let out a sigh so full of longing it might launch a million love songs from bridge to chorus. A lonesome howl. Instead, he does what he's supposed to. He keeps the beat and holds that friendly smile like that didn't just happen. Like that kiss wouldn't be embossed onto his lips whenever he hears a singer croon about unrequited love. His hand forever pressed against the window pane of a place he's not on the list for.

"See, easy. You did it, man. First kiss. Check. Done." Steve draws a tick in the air with his hand, but Eddie isn't looking. He might not even be listening. Instead, his eyes are still trained on Steve's mouth.

"Say, could I get a redo on that? I noticed something, and I wanna try something else," Eddie says excitedly, and Steve can hardly believe his luck. Praise whatever powerful being is allowing this to happen right now.

"Sure thing. It's your time. Anything I can help with?" Steve asks, trying not to sound too eager to please.

"Can you, um, how can I put it….can you kiss me back this time, so I know what that feels like?" Eddie asks, the grin on his face unmoving. A Roy Orbison 'Have Mercy' rings through his brain. For Steve, it might as well be Christmas right now, it's not everything he wants, but it's something, and to be honest, the universe has let him get away with a lot this evening. 

L.O…V.E.

Keeping his cool and calm facade up, he replies, "Yeah, sure, I can do that. It's your rules, man. Your hands are fine, too, by the way. Sorry if I scared you. I was trying to let you know it was ok." He smiles more gently, and Eddie nods before turning around quickly to turn the music up even louder.

Steve notices that Eddie isn't shaking anymore, and that sweet innocent look in his eyes appears to have disappeared entirely. It feels ridiculous to even think, but if he was going to label how Eddie looks right now, he'd use the word ravenous. The backdrop of the guitar screaming out of the speakers only makes Steve's pulse race faster. Even Eddie's posture is straighter. He’s standing a little taller. His eyes don't move from Steve's mouth until he's swaggered back to where he was, their noses an inch or so apart; his eyes flick up to Steve's, and he actually winks at him, but before Steve can process what all these changes mean or where they've come from, their mouths connect again, and he is literally manhandled. 

Eddie's hands yank Steve's arms around him, leaning his back against them like he wants Steve to touch him. Meanwhile, Eddie's hands are taking a whistlestop tour of Steve. Pushing and feeling over his torso and arms as they make their way up to his neck and into his hair, Eddie eases Steve's mouth open with his own, tugging gently on his bottom lip.

The message center in Steve's brain is in two distinct factions right now: Team 'What the hell is happening?' and Team 'Hell yeah, let's fucking go!". Only then does he remember he should be doing something other than letting Eddie paw over him and try to engulf him entirely. 

Steve kisses Eddie back, licks into his mouth with all the hunger he'd been restraining, and lets his hand smooth up Eddie's t-shirt. The feeling of his body through the fabric would be unforgettable. Steve's hands are the steady grounding bass groove to Eddie's hurried electrifying lead. He is in the throes of it now, so it's really not his fault that when he feels Eddie tug on his hair slightly, he instinctively roughly pulls Eddie closer, pressing them together. The force of which pushes a grunt from Eddie, making a bolt of lightning shoot straight into the pit of his stomach. 

This is the Eddie he'd been fantasizing about, powerful, rough, brain-frazzling, just like the guitar riffs he'd been listening to that night. Who knew it was lying in wait behind one little kiss? Maybe Steve wasn't such an awful judge of character after all. He isn’t sure what is going to happen after this. Perhaps they'll be so embarrassed they'll never talk to one another again, but the lines have been crossed now. So as far as Steve is concerned, he is going to sprint into this tryst until Eddie close-lines him to the floor by simply telling him 'No' or 'Stop'.

The loud music in his ears, and the sweet melody Eddie is playing with his body, makes Steve flip the bird at the angel complaining on his shoulder as he moves one of his hands to grip Eddie's lithe waist, thumbing into the flesh with the safety barrier of the material between. The other moves all the way north to get lost in that wild mane between his fingers as he grips into it lightly, doesn't pull, just wants to feel around in there, and it is glorious. He feels Eddie's tongue retract from the wrestling match it had been having with his own, his lips smile against him before he tugs hard on Steve's hair, tipping his head backwards with force, making him emit a noise he hadn't ever heard himself produce before, inspired by a place somewhere between pleasure and pain.

Both panting for air, Steve, though in an awkward position, decides to make light of the situation. He doesn't want Eddie to stop and figures humor will let him know everything is still good. "Not bad for a second kiss, Munson."

"Careful, Harrington. You wouldn't want anyone to think you're having a good time here, innocently helping out your new buddy, right?" Eddie's sultry smile descends into a smirk as he licks a fat stripe from the base of Steve's throat all the way up to his chin, along his jawline until he's dragging his teeth over his ear, and now Steve's eyes do roll back into his skull, his eyelids flutter shut, as he feels his blood thunder south. Steve decides that the town is wrong, Eddie doesn't worship the devil. The level of temptation and amount of sinful thoughts surging through Steve right now might mean that he is in the hands of Apollyon himself. Relief sweeps over him as Eddie finally pushes him into a wall, glad for something to help keep him standing.

He worries about the potentially embarrassing firmness rapidly developing below his belt, and a good Steve, a wise Steve, would tell Eddie to ease up, but those Steves are out to lunch. The only Steve remaining is munching on popcorn, yelling more, more, more, and switching every sign to green. "Jesus Christ, Eddie," is all he manages breathlessly.

Eddie's hand is still firmly holding Steve's head back as his other hand caresses his face and starts to move achingly slowly down his neck and chest as Eddie rasps in his ear, "You know, Harrington, you really should learn to ask more open questions." He must see the look of confusion on Steve's face because he laughs deeply, and it vibrates through Steve's body, not helping his current predicament in any way.

Another tug on his hair, and the hand on his chest moves lower still. Eddie's fingers trace gently along the outlines of his muscles through his sweatshirt. It's only then Steve realizes his own hands have turned limp against Eddie. He forces his eyes to look to the side to finally meet Eddie's in the darkness, waiting for answers that aren't emerging. Steve dips the fingers of the hand on Eddie's waist, along the waistband of his jeans, and he runs them around it gently until he finds a belt loop to hook a finger into and pulls Eddie against him again. A gasp and groan swim into Steve's ear. At the same time, he feels Eddie's stiffness against his hip. Steve bites down so hard on his own lip he's sure it might draw blood. "What do you mean?" He manages when the ability to think and speak finally returns.

Eddie deeply chuckles again before slowly, rhythmically thrusting his hips against Steve, causing a harmony of noises from them both. "Mmm, we sound good together, don't we?" Eddie purrs as his eyes trail over his face. The rough denim shifts the fabric of his trousers over his leg. The outside has the firm pressure from Eddie, but it's when the material gently brushes up and down the inside of his thigh that is really causing a cerebral malfunction. Steve should stop him. This is too far, too telling, he's exposed what he is, letting him get away with it, but if he does, this might never happen again, and he wants this so badly. Everything about this guy is musical. His tempo and basal noises are like sinful arias that Steve wants on repeat, his fingertips moving over him, conducting Steve's body to do exactly whatever he wants. Eddie ceases his pelvic onslaught. "I have a confession," he mutters gently as his fingers move to the lines where Steve's abdomen meets his hips, making Steve's usually very comfortable slacks feel like his worst enemy. "You see, I kinda didn't lie, but I didn't tell you the whole truth either." 

On instinct, Steve's fingers have been working away at freeing Eddie from his clothes. This is usually where a girl might bat his hand away, or if he was lucky, they'd help him out by removing it themselves. Eddie doesn't do that. He keeps his eyes on Steve and does nothing to stop or aid him. He simply allows it. With the freedom he's clearly been bestowed, Steve isn't sure why he doesn't immediately relieve Eddie of his clothes. Instead, it makes him untuck Eddie's band tee much more slowly than he actually wants to, like carefully unwrapping a gift. But as Eddie stops talking, he stops untucking. A smile ticks at the corner of Steve's mouth like he's playing a little game. Eddie pushes him lower slightly, so he can look down into his eyes as he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. It's a spinning coin of who has the power here, and Steve didn't realize until right now how soul-stirring that could be.

"We were talking about girls, right?" Eddie continues, a subtle tremble appearing in his voice, and Steve teases some of the fabric free as he speaks, his finger accidentally ghosting over the skin underneath. Eddie's words cease. Steve stills his fingers and watches him crumble slightly. Eddie whines and bites his lip, nodding, before taking a deep breath. "And everything I said about girls was one hundred percent true. I'd never outright lie to you. It was just a simple twisting to just see if…." Steve continues around his waistband until he realizes Eddie is repeating himself, and he starts tucking the t-shirt back in and moves his hand away. "No-no-no," Eddie says much more quickly, dropping out of his deep sultry tone to something Steve is more used to hearing, and he pouts.

"That's cheating," Steve smiles up at him.

"Sorry, sorry," Eddie apologizes and takes Steve's hand, placing it back where it was. "Please."

"Then confess," he says sternly, making Eddie wet his lips with his tongue.

"I hadn't kissed a girl. I tried. I like girls. I dated a bunch." Eddie's storytelling trait leaves the building, as all he is left with are short sentences, his eyes looking for Steve's hand teasing the material until the shirt is entirely free. He swallows thickly before he speaks again, "And I did give up after I chickened out a few times. That was all true." Steve's hand slithers under the soft cotton fabric of Eddie's T-shirt, and as his fingertips touch Eddie's stomach, his head flies back, and Steve can see his Adam's apple bobbing away, as he unleashes a string of whispered curse words into the air; his chest heaves up and down, and his grip almost pulsing in Steve's hair. He stays perfectly still, waiting for Eddie to return from wherever his brain and Steve's touch just sent him. Lets his hand linger, hoping it weaves a white-hot print into his skin forever. Hopes the place is accidentally brushed over one day, and this moment swamps his brain like the sweetest refrain.

'Cos bad boys they do

After a few seconds, his head lowers again, looking intensely into Steve's eyes, and he can feel the smooth abdomen and rise and fall against his palm. Other than the subtle movements of their bodies, they are caught in a stalemate. Without breaking their shared lustful stare save for an occasional blink, Steve flexes his trembling fingers lightly so the tips of them brush featherlight against Eddie’s softer-than-expected skin, and Eddie’s eyelids flicker for a moment. “So if that was all true, what was the lie?” Steve asks softly as his fingers graze over small patches of his torso, making minute circles that he is unsure about dealing out. Steve had felt a sizable number of bodies before, but this one is hot as a volcano and potentially just as volatile with one incorrect shifting of the fault-riddled ground they’d made together tonight. He has no idea what is too far here. Steve feels he is walking a high wire of intimacy. One wrong move and it could all be over. It all comes flooding into his mind at once how very little he knows about Eddie. How potentially dangerous this could be. What if Steve crosses a line, and it sets him off? Steve’s heart pounds in his chest, unsure of how to proceed.

With his head still tilted back in Eddie's hand, he looks down his nose and gingerly reaches out for Eddie's hand, wraps his fingers cautiously around his wrist, and to his relief, he lets him take it. He places it on his wrist, partially obscured by the T-shirt it hides under. Steve meets his eyes again, and Eddie’s hand chases after Steve’s under his shirt. He looks down at Eddie’s chest, can make out the bumps of his knuckles through the cotton, and spreads his fingers slightly so they disappear, and Eddie’s digits fall into the spaces between his own. A slight glint of a smile twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth as he tightens his grip and moves Steve’s hand over his body with a gulp, watching Steve like a hawk, and for a moment, he thinks maybe Eddie is just as scared of him. He moves their hands slowly to his chest, and his eyes close as he licks his lips. His chest is rising and falling much more profoundly and hurriedly now. He smooths their loosely joined hands slowly down him to his side, over the ripple of his ribs under Steve's fingertips. Eddie observes Steve the whole time, and the tension is eating away at him, so he pushes. “You didn’t answer. What was the lie?” Steve asks again.

Eddie's hand leaves him, and his skin misses the red-hot heat of his palm already. It shoots out to the side of Steve's head against the wall, and Eddie slowly bends his elbow to lean his face back into Steve’s space. Steve tries his absolute best to stay calm, but his heart thunders in his chest, and his eyes flicker back down to Eddie’s mouth. He feels a deep ache—one more kiss. One more, and then he’ll stop.

Eddie’s smile grows to a wicked thing above him as he studies Steve’s face. "The lie? No, Steve. Not a lie, just not the whole truth. I’ve never kissed a girl, and I do like them. But I also like guys.” Steve’s eyes must betray him entirely with surprise because Eddie’s grin widens, ”And I kissed a whole bunch of them a whole lotta times," he manages before adding to that total by kissing Steve ferociously, clashing them together almost painfully and pulling away roughly, "and you can't really blame me when the hottest guy in the universe offered me a kiss for nothing. Out of the goodness of his precious, kind heart." Eddie’s eyes drop lower, and soon he’s gone from where Steve can see. The next thing he feels is his soft wet lips mouthing over Steve's throat. The quick switch to gentleness has him finally releasing his hair and cupping the back of his neck. "You forgive me, right, sweetheart?" He speaks it into his skin, and he’s right. He does, but he can’t currently articulate the words to do so. Steve is pleasantly surprised that Eddie duped him. That means that Eddie wanted him, too, right? Maybe not in the same way, but in some way. A smile breaks on Steve's face as he lets the wave of pleasure crash over him as frequently and as heavily as they like. 

Make the grade.

He adds ‘Phenomenal Actor’ to his Eddie assessment list.

Steve laughs, making Eddie stop, but Steve doesn't have time to reassure him. The danger is gone, but it is no less exhilarating. He finally uses his strength to push off the wall and trade places. Eddie looks confused, maybe even a little scared, until he scans over Steve’s face centimeters from his own, smiling broadly, laughing in between pants for breath. As Steve pushes off him and removes his blazer and sweatshirt, Eddie no longer seems so worried.

"What did I do to deserve all this?" His eyes rake over every newly exposed inch of Steve, which feels like the most glorious thing in the world. Eddie wants him. It is looping over in his brain like a scratched record.

They're gonna drive me crazy yet.

"Well, let's see, you told the truth." Steve pushes his hardness into Eddie's thigh, and the relief from that tiny bit of contact is almost enough to make Steve collapse onto Eddie, but now he knows they had both been misleading one another a little, and he wants to play up to it.

"I did, I really did. I was so good for that, wasn't I?" Eddie agrees enthusiastically, his eyebrows pushing together as he looks from Steve's face to the friction between them as Eddie slides against him again, and Steve almost short circuits.

Prior to right now, Steve's general part in this kind of dynamic was mostly being grateful. Grateful for a girl, to let him touch her in any way. Even with Tommy, it was almost like a mutual science experiment, but Steve has found two new things he was into in the few short minutes of whatever this was developing between him and Eddie, so he pokes at one. 

"But you also made me aware that someone as good at acting as you cannot be trusted." Steve rolls his hips away from Eddie, leaving him shaking his head quickly in a sort of panic, and watching Eddie crave him like this was sending undulating shockwaves throughout himself. Sure, he's been the subject of coy glances, big eyes full of affection, maybe something close to love, but to be desired so desperately is not something he is accustomed to. It prickles at his nerve endings until his whole body feels so sensitive, like the merest hint of a breeze against it could send him crashing back into Eddie for more.

"It wasn't all acting, I swear. I was nervous about kissing you, but for different reasons than I said," Eddie babbles. His fingers dig into Steve's forearms as he grasps for them. Make that three. Usually, when he was gripped this way, it was by the soft pads at the ends of dainty fingers, maybe even the light scratches of perfectly manicured fingernails. Eddie's fingers aren’t like that. The tips are covered mostly in calluses from playing the guitar, and the roughness of his palms is probably from working with his hands. Steve suspects it's perhaps his van. Immediately jealous that it might be from all the rough surfaces Eddie has pushed other guys up against. He shuts his eyes momentarily as the textures graze across his arms, and his brain takes him to a sweltering hot day, Eddie leaning into the engine of his van, sweat dripping from him, covered in streaks of engine oil or grease, and it is doing Steve no favors in his attempt to calm down. He listens to the music around them for a reprieve, but it doesn't come. The singer only urges him on. He wonders if Eddie selected this album intentionally. If it was part of his plan all along, to bewitch Steve with a wicked potion of himself and the suggestive lyrics in the air.

That smokin' powder keg you're riding on is hell-bound

Steve rushes him, throwing a forearm over his head and leaning his whole weight against it on the wall so he looms over Eddie, breathing hard but keeping a distance between their bodies, hoping to create a chasm between them that they’d fill with the desire behind their eyes. He carefully leans in and speaks his words into Eddie's slightly parted mouth. "Would you have forgiven me if our roles had been reversed? If I had tricked you tonight?" His eyes rise sleepily from Eddie's lips to his hooded eyes, and a shuddering breath escapes the man under him, and Steve's stomach flips.

"Yeah. Yes. A million times, yes. I'd forgive you." Eddie looks like he's in pain as his words drip with yearning. Steve smiles down at him, and he can see the wave of realization move gradually across Eddie's face, "You tricked me?" He says slowly in an unbelieving whisper. His big eyes look up at Steve so innocently for a moment that it makes him positively growl into Eddie's neck because this is fucking sensational. He knows at any point he could throw up his hands, and Eddie would take the reins, or he could continue to overpower him, dominate him like this. He honestly can’t read what Eddie prefers, but he also had no idea what he liked better, either. It all feels good, maybe a little too good.

At the altar of rock 'n' roll you'll kneel.

"It wasn't a trick, exactly. It was more a bending of the truth and then a little pushing my luck," Steve says quietly as he mouths down his neck, his tongue tasting the sharpness of cheap cologne that Steve wouldn't have replaced by anything more expensive. It is perfection. He latches on when he reaches the base of his throat, hoping to leave Eddie with a memory of this evening, a warning to anyone else that sees it, at least for a few days, making Eddie hiss a breath between his teeth. Increasing the pressure as the guitar desperately wails in the sweet syrupy air around them. At first, he thinks he might have been too rough and hurt him until Eddie's hands guide his head back for more. "You like that?" Steve asks for the first time.

"I'd like it better if the rest of you wasn't so far away," Eddie half-complains.

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure you deserve it after being so deceptive." Steve laughs, taking his throat between his teeth again and sucking down. He dares to glance up at Eddie's expression and regrets it immediately because he looks like absolute sin, his head thrown back against the wall, sweat sticking his hair to his face, his kiss-swollen mouth hanging open like it's desperately waiting for something obscene to fill it. Though he can't see them in the dim light, he bets those coral pink triangles of blush are adorning his face right now.

Hellion! The devil's Hellion child

"You're not really selling the whole telling you the truth thing, you know?" Eddie catches him staring up at him and grins until he's cut off by Steve bursting another bunch of his blood vessels to decorate his pretty neck. Then he's catching his breath, gasping, and sighing into the air above them as his eyes slide closed. 

"Yeah, but imagine how much more you could have right now if you'd been good," Steve says as he releases and towers over him again, and Eddie lets him, despite them being roughly the same height. A mischievous grin spreads across Eddie’s face as his hips rut forward and grind against him again, almost taunting him. It feels so sinfully good. Steve almost whimpers but presses his lips together just in time. He looks at Eddie, who is already watching him, with a slightly arched eyebrow. As their eyes lock, he does it once more. His brow knits, and his mouth drops open a little. Steve recognises it as almost too much. A moan rolls out of him in the silence between songs, and Steve can't resist that open invitation to capture it. But the next song seeps into his ears, slower, gentler, and Steve lets the music puppet him. He reaches out to cup Eddie's jaw, thumbing at his cheek where he can feel those little patches of heat hiding in the darkness. The music slows his touch and breathing. He lets his eyes search Eddie's for the keys to unlock what he's holding back. Eddie releases a sigh.

Click.

Look, look in the candlelight.

Completely lost in the moment, he finally lets his mind take him and Eddie somewhere else entirely. Suspended in a dark nothingness, only one another's highlights revealed by the faintest light until flames burst from the floor to lick at their bodies. He claims Eddie's mouth with his own and tastes him again, consuming his sounds of pleasure like it was the ambrosia of the gods. He mentally adds to his Eddie assessment.

Exceedingly good at reading me.

As Steve draws back again, just to escape how good Eddie feels, before this ends too soon for his liking, Eddie says, "Come on, Steve. If I'd been really good and told no lies, neither of us would have much of anything right now." His hands move over Steve's body as smoothly as his voice fills his ears until they find their way around his waist, splay out against his back and pull him in closer again. "So maybe, don't think about it too much. Maybe call it even and don't think about anything at all." Eddie's hands move lower, grazing the small of his back, gliding into and over the dimples there, until his fingertips are playing with the back of his waistband, and he slightly dips them inside of it. He raises his eyes to Steve's and holds his gaze through his eyelashes, and Steve realizes he's silently asking for permission. 

And cry out the name of which I yearn.

Eddie doesn't know, but this is the furthest he's ever gone with a guy. He and Tommy had a few make-out sessions. There had been some moments where other parts of their bodies had brushed against one another, but primarily accidental, not purposeful like this. Not urgent wanting like this. It was the hands above the belt rule that kept it safe, that kept it in a forgivable friendly experiment zone. Even if they'd ended up visibly aroused by anything, they'd laugh it off, slap one another on the back, and find a bathroom each, as far apart as possible. This is not like that. He desperately wants to cross that line, specifically with Eddie, but the icy fear is steadily creeping its way past Eddie's flaming hot hands and up his spine. If he stepped over that line, there were no excuses then. It's only when Eddie speaks again he realizes he's frozen. "Steve? Hey, you ok?" Eddie's fingertips immediately retreat to the outside of the waistband of Steve's slacks.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, I'm good," Steve says confidently, even laughing for good measure, but inside, he is terrified. He surges forward to kiss Eddie again, who accepts, but Steve notices it's much more like their first one. Soft, slow, gentle. He feels the firm pressure of Eddie's arms surrounding him, and it's a sorely needed comfort to slow down the insanity that is going on within him right now. Eddie's eyes scan his face. "Is that as far as you got?" He asks, and there is that kindness in his voice again. He's changed back to the guy that cared enough to be there tonight for Steve, with absolutely no idea there was anything in it for him at all. Steve swallows nervously and nods, looking down to the floor, a little embarrassed that his fear had suddenly surpassed his enthusiasm. He doesn't understand why Eddie isn't upset right now, why he isn't pushing him away, calling him a cocktease, or something worse. Sure Steve had never in his life treated anyone like that, no matter where they paused or stopped proceedings, but from what the girls revealed to him as he'd hold them in his arms, reassuring them it didn't matter, it wasn't a big deal, most guys got pissed about it. He was an exception.

"Steve. It's ok." His arms tighten around him, and one hand starts rubbing a soothing circle on his back as he stands to his full height again. 'Look at me. Please"

Steve quickly glances at him and looks away just as rapidly. "Can you try to look at me for a bit longer, please? I know it's difficult on account of how hideous you find me." The smile in his tone is evident, and Steve dares to look again. "There you are," Eddie says with a huge smile, and Steve offers him a weak one back. "Remember earlier, we were talking about Eddie's rules?" He brings a hand to touch the side of Steve's face, carefully moving a few strands of hair away from his eyes. Steve can't bring himself to say anything. He looks down again and feels stupid. Eddie catches his chin on the crook of his index finger and tilts his head back up. "Well, number one on the list of Eddie's Rules is all parties have to be into what's happening at all times. Understand? Because if you're not into it, I'm not into it, ok? That's how it works for me. I'm not being a martyr here," he smiles and looks down where they are still pressed together. "When I know someone's having a good time with me because of me, that's my thing. That's what gets me off." Eddie pretends to be deep in thought as he looks back up. "Well, that and a hundred other things probably, but that's definitely my favorite and most important." He lets out a soft laugh that makes the tension boiling in Steve rest to a simmer.

Steve casts his eyes down to the collar of Eddie's t-shirt, rolls it between his fingers and sighs, "Sorry. I know it must seem like a weird line to have, considering everything else we’ve been doing. You must be disappointed," Steve says regretfully, and Eddie laughs so loudly, making Steve’s eyes snap to him in alarm.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have any idea where I've been for the past I don't fucking know minutes? I'm day-slash-night walking in fantasy, Steve. You have no idea how many times I thought about this. How many different ways. I never. Hand on heart. Never thought it would happen. And believe me when I say I thought I had a fantastic imagination, being a storyteller, a musician, and a dreamer, but nothing I came up with was anywhere close to how amazing this is. Seriously." His hand cups Steve's jaw, and his thumb runs across his cheekbone. "So no, sweetheart, I'm not disappointed. I am a man, light years away from the town of disappointment, ok?"

Steve smiles but rolls his eyes with his patented half-smile. Eddie looks and sounds genuine, but he can't help but feel maybe he'd wanted or expected more.

"I know what you're thinking, Steve. I think I rammed my tongue so far down your throat I tasted your innermost thoughts, so I'll be one hundred percent honest with you. I would be lying if I said I didn't want more. But I always want more. It's who I am. I'm greedy for attention, affection and, right now, you. I am. I'll hold my hands up to that. But I am not disappointed. So you've got nothing to apologize for except being so damn delectable. And maybe don't even be sorry for that because-" Steve cuts him off with a kiss that sets off a box of exhibition-sized fireworks inside of Steve, an orchestral crescendo that runs in ripples over his skin. Fuck, he likes this guy so much more than he thought he did or could.

"You know, I can talk more if that's how you'll keep me quiet the rest of the night?" Eddie smiles as he blinks back into the present. 

"You know I'm in one too?" Steve says quietly, brushing the sweat-dampened hair from Eddie's face.

"Huh? In one? One what?" Eddie looks completely bamboozled.

Steve chuckles, making Eddie's face light up. "I mean, I'm in a fantasy too."

"Fuck off!" Eddie exclaims so loudly in shock it makes Steve lean back. "You are not!" Steve nods, and Eddie's mouth is wide open in excited surprise as he gestures to himself. "Me? Really?" 

"Yeah," Steve says softly, draping his arms around Eddie's neck.

"You have no idea the inner turmoil I'm in right now. Like, I know, I can't tell anyone about this, and I won't, but if I could, shit, the fucking urge to rub this in all their stupid faces is strong. Steve Harrington was fantasizing about lil' ol' me." He flutters his eyelashes. "Feed my ego, Steve. Tell me everything, please."

"Ah, no. That's private," Steve says, frowning a little.

"Ok, ok. At least tell me for how long?" Eddie asks, his arms around Steve, shaking him left to right with excitement, and Steve sighs.

"Since yesterday." And almost immediately, Eddie pouts his downturned lips as his shoulders sink.

"Damn, you don't mess around, do ya?" Eddie replies with a lot less excitement.

"Ok, so you definitely seem disappointed now," Steve remarks.

"Yeah, that's because I am." Eddie pouts again, and Steve is amusedly taken aback by his honesty. At least this reaction confirmed he was telling the truth moments ago.

"Why? Like, why be disappointed about this and not me ruining everything," Steve asks curiously.

"Ok, stop. You ruined nothing. This is different. I just learned you'd been thinking about me, and I guess I imagined it would have been for longer than a day, Steve. What? No pining? No finding out when I'm on shift so you can watch my fine ass walk by? No, Eddie daydreams out of the window. Just one day? How? How is that possible? What did I do yesterday that I didn't do any other of the days we've known one another? I look the same. I act the same. Is it? Is it because you think I'm turning over a new leaf with a legitimate job? Because you should know I'm not." Eddie lets the words leave him like rapid fire as he puzzles through the situation, "Is it name tags? ‘Cus I can get my hands on as many name tags as you want. Oh, wait, is it because I asked for your help? Like a good Samaritan kink or something because, again, my teachers will tell ya I need all the help I can get."

"It's because yesterday I knew, well, I hoped you were like me," Steve answers.

"Oh, the liking guys thing?" Eddie guesses, and Steve shakes his head in a no, and Eddie wrinkles up his nose adorably.

"Music. You talk out loud about music, the way I feel inside about music. In the record store, the way you described the Hendrix album felt different from when you were assessing the others, and earlier tonight, the way you talked about this one," Steve gestures to the air to indicate the music still playing, "and then you knew what I was talking about when I talked about those sensations. And I thought maybe you'd get me. And then I remembered you were in a band, and I thought how amazing that must feel, to play these things and feel like I feel when I only listen to them. Then I couldn't stop thinking about how you might look, getting totally lost in it." Steve takes a breath, realizing how amped up he is talking about this, staring intensely into Eddie's eyes. He's suddenly aware he's talking louder, excitedly, his hands around the back of Eddie's neck, twisting his fingers into Eddie's hair. "Sorry." He says with an awkward laugh and dials it down a few notches back to normal Steve levels.

Eddie says nothing, only gazes back at him, a soft, thoughtful look on his face, blinking a few times before he says, "Don't stop on my account." And right there in a dimly lit room, W.A.S.P still playing loudly in the background, half-dressed, his hair wildly disheveled, Steve Harrington falls for Eddie Munson. 

Shit. This is bad. Fooling around, secret crushes and fantasies were one thing, but this? This is something else entirely. Dangerous even. But Steve knows. He emphatically knows the difference between something purely physical, something lustfully wanton, and this. This spins his head like a record, his stomach turns cartwheels, and his heart isn't pounding quickly like the hooves of galloping wild horses anymore. It's thudding. A resounding, steady thud. A bluesy John Lee Hooker boom, boom, boom, boom.

"Really?" Steve asks carefully.

"Do you know the level of nerd you have in your arms right now? I mean, I'm a pretty, foxy one at least, but yeah, really, Music was the first thing I remember being completely obsessed with." Eddie smiles. "I had no idea until we were by your pool that music wasn't anything but background noise to you or something to dance with girls to. All I knew about you was you liked sports, were rich, a little bit of a bitch, and so goddamn pretty. I would happily talk about and listen to you talk about music for hours." 

Steve wants to ask, but he just stares. He doesn't want to scare Eddie away, but he wants to know if this is just tonight, some fun between friends, or if…if there could be a tomorrow, or next week, or month, or year, or fucking forever.

"Wanna share with the class?" Eddie says, with a sweet encouraging smile.

"Well, two things, one for you and one for me," Steve says. "Which first?"

"Oh, definitely you first, sweetheart," Eddie drawls, and Steve desperately tries to focus on his words and not any hidden meanings that his body is trying to convince him of right now.

"So, I was wondering, and it's absolutely fine if not, but do you maybe wanna hang out again tomorrow or another night this week?" Steve asks, using his confident mask.

"Like we have tonight?" Eddie asks slowly.

"Yeah, or just-" Steve tries to answer.

"Stop right there." Eddie presses a finger to Steve's still-speaking lips. " Yes! Absolutely yes, Steve. Yes. It's a yes. Big fat, yes. Thank you very much," Eddie answers firmly without hesitation, before a colossal grin breaks across his face, and then he suddenly looks puzzled. "Wait, that was for you? What in the world do you have for me?" But Steve has stalled now. He's still processing how eagerly Eddie agreed, and he's very aware of his own breathing and the pulse in his ears until he's snapped out of it by a ringed hand waving in his face.

"Earth to Steve. Helloooo?" Eddie tries, and Steve tries to remember what he was talking about before he started plotting out their future together.

"So, for you, yes, erm, ok, so kinda embarrassing, but I thought you might like to know that whilst I only fantasized about you for one day, it was…." Steve licks his lips and blinks like he can't believe he's going to say this out loud, but he wants Eddie not to be disappointed. He looks into Eddie's expectant eyes in the darkness. "It was, um…intense and um…vigorous." Steve sees his eyes go a new level of wide before he looks impressed with himself.

"Oh-ho-ho, really? Now that does make me feel a little better." Even in the low light, his huge toothy grin is beaming at Steve. "You know I can run out to the van any time you like, grab that guitar and happily give you your own private concert."

"You would?" Steve asks dreamily as he thinks about that image momentarily and slides closer to Eddie until their silhouettes merge into one against the wall.

"Oh yeah, with fucking bells on." Eddie grins, his eyes dropping to Steve's mouth again, then looking him up and down. "Is this you indicating you might wanna rewind and within the lines have a little more fun now?"

"Yeah," Steve breathes against his lips. "That ok?"

"That ok?" Eddie playfully mimics and laughs. "Yes, of course, gorgeous. Absolutely ok! Maybe, as I'm staying over anyway, we can do the same tomorrow too?" Eddie says, walking Steve backwards to the couch, his eyes lazily looking over Steve's face as he guides him to sit and lowers him down, cradling the back of his head gently to lie back. "Ok, like this?" He asks as he shuffles into his lap. Steve nods happily and wraps his arms around Eddie's waist.

"Who knows, maybe tomorrow won't be the same? Maybe a sweet, handsome, nerdy guy can help me get a little further tomorrow? Because with him, I'd really like to eventually. You know, do more," Steve says positively; though he can feel the heat rise up his face, he is smiling up at Eddie as he leans in close and presses a kiss to his lips before sitting back and taking off his t-shirt. Eddie pauses like he's allowing him the time to look over him. Steve makes a mental note of all the places he's going to explore later, all the ink buried in Eddie's skin he's going to get intimately acquainted with every minuscule detail of, maybe even leave his signature next to them, so Steve can be buried under Eddie's skin there right along with them.

"From what I know of that guy, he will be more than eager to assist, but he's also not in any kind of rush. He'll be beside himself that he got so fucking lucky to get his lips on the second hottest music nerd in town." And before Steve can laugh and reach up to playfully push him off, Eddie leans down against his hand to kiss him longingly, his untamed hair draping around them both like the softest black-out curtains against the outside world, their sounds intertwine harmoniously once more as they breathe one another in and out. 

Symbiotic. Just like Eddie said.

Whilst their song sends Steve's imagination into the serenity of outer space, his fingertips of the hand wedged between them moves over Eddie's skin, across to the center of his chest, until they find what Steve's been after for so long. 

A beat that wholeheartedly moves him.

[sideprince]

I've seen the same post a hundred times now. Sometimes it's a few days old, sometimes it's from years ago, but it's always the same. Some anti posts about how they don't understand how anyone can like Snape because he was so awful, and then there's a long reply that goes something like, "imagine this happens to you, and then this, and then this" to describe Snape's experience. Sometimes there's some James Potter hate thrown in.

Look. You can go through describing a character's entire experience but you don't really need to. Here's the thing that antis don't understand:

For all her faults (and they're big, bigoted ones) Rowling understood a really integral part of the human experience and conveyed it through Snape. Everyone needs love and to feel accepted. It's that simple. Snape became a Death Eater to seek acceptance (Rowling has confirmed this, though I can't remember the source - whoever wants to add it please do), because it was the only way he could find any.

Snape's understanding of morality, like everyone's, is subjective. Some readers understand this and some don't. When faced against a morality that says there is good and bad in the world, everyone makes choices based on their personal experience. Context is everything. Someone who experiences pain and suffering will not see the person inflicting it on them as moral. That's it. 'How can this person be good when they caused me so much suffering?' = human psychology. Most of the people who think 'I'm a bad person and deserve this' have been gaslit and abused into thinking so, because it's not a natural reaction - it's one that has to often be socialized into someone at a young age, exactly because it's not natural. Everyone is the hero of their own story; no one sees themselves as a villain, because they see the valid aspects of their own perspective.

You can write essays on how vulnerable people needing acceptance is what cults and fascists exploit to recruit vulnerable people, or on how the standard anti's un-nuanced reading of Snape both ignores canon and displays a disturbing lack of empathy or compassion, but at its core it just boils down to context. From Snape's perspective he experienced cruelty, therefore the people inflicting it must be cruel. Again, it's that simple. He was a person, like any other, except he was fictional so he wasn't even real. On the flip side is James Potter, who, for all his faults, didn't get to live long enough to get a chance to change and grow unlike Snape, and I think the Snapedom also needs to acknowledge that.

They're fictional characters representing things an author wants to say, not sports teams, not martyrs, and not all good or all bad emblems that define your identity depending on how you feel about them. It's depressing how much time is wasted arguing with bullies and trolls whether from the Marauders fandom or just random antis. I literally can't find more than three blogs to follow without this argument coming across my feed daily. I know the Snapedom is Not OK™ and that's kind why we're all here, and I know that my take is super unpopular but like Snape, I don't care what others think: this fandom has been having the exact same argument for years and nothing has changed. There's fanart and meta and fic and so much content out there appreciating this character, you're not going to change an anti's mind who's deliberately trolling in the tags, so why are you trying? What are you getting out of it? What does it give you? It's exhausting just scrolling past it.

[gigidragonbbxxx]

a personal struggle + an education

this is all just gigi's opinions + thoughts

Reader, I'm struggling with empathy right now.

Don't worry, I'm not suffering from a personality pathology, I promise I am quite sympathetic and empathetic. It's just battling the feeling of wanting to be kind but also seeing a major problem and knowing I need to get it off my chest.

Let me give it to yall straight (with tweaked/paraphrased details to protect privacy and not to out anyone):

I saw a favorite loass coach/twt account/subliminal creator make fun of an "old timey" English sentence either from Neville Goddard or Edward Art. They proceeded to say that they "hate" it and "why can't they just say it simpler". and then someone else commented "they're talking bullshit fr".

The convo thread on twt devolved into an echo chamber that essentially boiled down to the old fool's adage "If I don't understand it, it must be stupid and not worth it."

This really triggered me because

The phrase quoted was not that hard to understand.

It was clear these women were not educated

Why am I judging or mad at people for their ignorance? (this is why I kept quiet on twt and went here to vent. I acknowledge that two things can be true, I can be kind and still be honest.)

I was and currently am still wrestling with these things within me.

On one hand I don't want to judge. I want to be inclusive and welcoming and supportive.

On the other hand - yall don't look educated, yall wind up looking dumb.

I'll say a harsh truth yall and you can go argue with a damn wall but I know I'm right: stupidity is not cute.

My Hot Take (not so hot when you think about it)

The Law of Assumption rewards those who feed their mind with knowledge

Before you argue with me, think about it. Seriously.

I don't want to seem ableist if someone suffers from dyslexia or if someone struggles in school. It's totally okay to have different paths to learning. The importance is still obtaining the information. You can read or listen to the audiobook, etc. The paths to knowledge are varied but in the end the result is the same - THE KNOWING.

The "old timey" sentence that the creator complained about COULD BE READ BY NINTH GRADERS BECAUSE OF SHAKESPEARE EXPOSURE.

That's why I was exasperated. They were complaining about English (the only language in which they are fluent) that is regularly taught to 14 year olds.

Guys. Stand up. Please stand the fuck up.

Who in this world is gonna take you seriously without BASIC COMPETENCY in literature or math?

Lemme roast some of yall if you want to disagree:

Yall wanna be master manifesters and claim to understand the double slit experiment but can't even name the fundamental laws of science or explain them.

Yall wanna be successful in your businesses and don't know how to calculate your profits.

Yall wanna be seen as intellectuals who "understand" more than the majority of the population and yall can't even fucking read Descartes or Shakespeare.

Yall wanna be content creators and don't know how to proofread.

One time I bought an affirmation tape that came with a pdf with all the affirmations listed. The tape itself was excellent but the pdf was riddled with errors! It makes me sad because something that can help change your life, like a sleep tape to saturate, "cheapens" in its authenticity at the price of minor errors. Sigh.

Let me tell you that 100% you can be successful in this world just by going to the end and claiming it.

BUT YOU LOSE A LOT OF TREASURE BY NOT GIVING YOURSELF THE TOOLS TO DIG FOR IT.

THERE IS SO MUCH FOUNDATIONAL INFORMATION WITHIN THESE "OLD TIMEY" TEXTS.

and if you don't like any of it and just wanna watch sammy ingram and manifest like that THEN GO AHEAD BUT DONT CLAIM TO NOT UNDERSTAND A SENTENCE AND THEN CALL IT BULLSHIT.

just be honest and own it!

be honest that you don't wanna read, that you don't wanna be academic and that's 100% okay and you're still beautiful and worth everything but

do not put down the value of what is being said just because you don't understand it

That's why I am frustrated, reader.

I am educated enough to recognize when someone's ignorance is just that - ignorance.

But I am human enough to be annoyed.

So please give yourselves some grace and take the time to appreciate knowledge. Without the knowledge of the law of assumption, we wouldn't all be here interacting with one another.

xx, gigi

p.s. for those of you who are more familiar with reading the Bible via the law of assumption lens - I beg you to think of Solomon. He was asked by God what he would like and Solomon chose wisdom over material things. Why is that? Because through wisdom comes the ability to know how to obtain all one's desires. Food for thought.

[lamemaster]

Vilomah

Request: Can we get a aftermath of how Baldur's death affected both mc and Maedhros as a person emotionally and how it changed their relationship? Please 🥺🙏 I hope this isn't too much to ask. I love you ❣ Take care ❣❣

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Angst

TWI: Character death :)

Summary: Vilomah, against the natural order. That is what they call a parent who lost their child.

AN: eeek angst warning. But hopefully you guys like it. Multiple POVs. Thanks for requesting!

Please read this to understand the context: Part 1

Ailya's pen glides across the paper, transcribing your words as you speak, knowing that these notes will eventually meet the same fate as countless others – erased, discarded, forgotten. The thought of giving up this futile task crosses her mind, a voice of reason suggesting that she should just listen to your story, unburdened by the act of documenting it. After all, what's the point of writing when the words will vanish into oblivion?

Yet, she can't bring herself to stop. Not when you sit before her, shrouded in heavy cloaks, eyes filled with fragility. It's a heartbreaking scene, and her heart compels her to continue despite the inevitability of erasure.

Your presence as her patient stretches back over a century. Ailya is the sole healer of the mind in Hirming, and she had once attended to Lord Maedhros, helping mend his shattered psyche after his rescue from Angband. But that chapter has long concluded. Now, it's your narrative that she captures in her notebook.

She knows your story well – the miraculous reunion with your love, Lord Maedhros, a tale of star-crossed lovers reunited after misunderstandings tore them apart. It's a story that has touched the hearts of many, but Ailya recognizes the bittersweet undertones that color its pages.

Your reunion came at a cost – the life of your son, Baldur, your own shattered spirit, and a fleeting existence that seems to slip away like sand through your fingers. You, Y/n, the Lady of Hirming, are fading away, a truth only Ailya's notes bear witness to.

As you continue to speak, Ailya's pen moves in tandem with your words, etching each detail, each emotion into the parchment. Yet, her heart aches for you. It's a secret she holds close – that your fading presence, the toll of your reunion, is a fact that only her notes preserve. These notes, so carefully written, are destined for destruction, consigned to the flames at the hearth of the healer's office.

She is powerless to stop it, following orders from the princes themselves. Concealing your truth from their elder brother, Maedhros, is a painful necessity. The true notes are swapped for ones that don't reveal your condition, all in an effort to protect their brother from further anguish.

In the adjacent room, another healer busies themselves with concocting false records for the meeting, notes that will be sent to Lord Maedhros, reinforcing the illusion of your well-being.

Ailya's thoughts snap back to the present as she returns her gaze to you, her heart a mix of empathy and sorrow. She watches as you fiddle with your fingers, avoiding her gaze, a picture of vulnerability. “Baldur loved the color red…his father’s color,” Your words are no different from any other session but Ailya wishes they were. 

Your sessions with her have been deep dives into the lives of Baldur and Maedhros, with little of your own self shared. It's as if you're a mere observer in your own narrative.

"My Lady, how is your sleep?" Ailya gently guides the conversation back to you. Your confusion is evident, your vulnerable expression striking. Ailya notices the bags under your eyes, evidence of sleepless nights.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous gesture Ailya knows well. It's a quirk that surfaces when you're faced with discussions about your struggles – sleeping being one of them. The loss of sleep has become synonymous with the loss of your son, a state unimaginable even for an Elda.

"Have you been taking your meals?" Ailya continues, unfazed by your silence. "If you don't take care, I might have to discuss this with Lord Maedhros." The color drains from your face, replaced by panic, at her last words.

An empty threat that leave you a mess of ushered apologies.

Some days, a haunting question gnaws at your thoughts – why wasn't your love enough for Baldur? Could it be that your love was insufficient to secure his happiness? If only he hadn't cared so deeply for his father, he might have found peace by your side. It's a bitter pill to swallow, yet your feelings are not tinged with resentment towards your husband. Instead, it's a heavy acceptance of your own perceived shortcomings. You believe you should have tried harder, found a better way. Baldur deserved more than the tragic fate he met. He deserved a chance to know his father, and his untimely end feels like a cruel twist of destiny.

These thoughts become a nightly torment, causing you to gasp for air in the quiet of the night. Beside Maedhros, you lie awake, avoiding sleep as if it were an adversary. In the Lord of Hirming's chamber, you stand sentinel, vigilant in your wakefulness to protect your beloved as he sleeps.

Maedhros is never at peace in his slumber. His brows remain furrowed in a perpetual frown, betraying the nightmares that grip his dreams. Your sleepless nights become devoted to erasing that frown, your tender efforts aimed at soothing his troubled rest. Sometimes, it's a whispered melody that you offer, while on other nights, a gentle touch is enough to coax him back into peaceful slumber. Over time, you've learned to interpret the subtle nuances of his facial expressions, identifying the antidote to his nightmares.

Yet, despite your tireless attempts and countless remedies, sleep eludes you. Every time you close your eyes, your dreams transform into heart-wrenching visions of your son. You witness him on the battlefield, calling out for his father. In these dreams, you relive the painful moment of his death, unable to alter its course no matter how hard you try. Irmo, the master of dreams, grants you no respite from this torment.

You often find yourself facing your son's questioning gaze, the same inquiry etched into his eyes – "Why did I have to die, amme?" It's a question that pierces your soul, and you awake from these dreams with your heart heavy and your eyes damp. The ache of his absence haunts you, a relentless reminder.

Maedhros grapples with an unsettling truth – he cannot remember his own son. Despite gazing at old portraits and listening to your meticulously detailed stories, no sense of connection or recognition stirs within him. He may detect a flicker of his own features in his son's face, but the bond that should exist between a father and a child remains absent.

Maedhros acknowledges that he should feel grief, mourn the loss, and carry the weight of unbearable guilt, but the emotions he should feel are elusive. Instead, it's your sorrow that resonates deeply with him, tugging at his heartstrings.

Your grief, etched in your eyes, becomes a burden Maedhros can't ignore. The pain of Baldur's death lingers in your very being, and it's this anguish that affects him the most. Struggling with his own lack of emotion toward his son, Maedhros harbors a secret he dares not share with anyone – an unwarranted resentment toward his own child. It's a sentiment he detests in himself, a contradiction that breeds shame.

His son's selfless love becomes an ironical source of discomfort for Maedhros. Baldur was the reason for his prolonged separation from you, the cause of your prolonged agony. Yet, now, the same son is also the reason that Maedhros finds himself poring over the healer's notes every fortnight.

To the Lord of Hirming, only hope remains in your presence. You have finally come to his side as his wife. As the Lady of Hirming. So, even without a whisper of complaint, Maedhros listens to your every word about your son. Aiming to piece together a fleeting image of his son.

“Open the door that once,” Ailya cannot control the anger seeping into her voice. The sight of latched wooden doors leaves her vision red. She after all carries the blood of Noldor in her. The guards remain unflinchingly vigilant even as they bow to her, “We are sorry but Lord Maedhros has forbidden it. No one must open the door.”

"What reason could be there to lock the Lady in this manner?" Ailya feels a layer of dread settle over her. It numbs the rage. A realization lingers on the horizon.

"This is all for her safety. She cannot accompany him on the patrol," another guard replies.

Behind the doors is a light thud, a constant ever since Ailya’s presence, perhaps way before it. “Please…please open,” pleading noise barely travels through the sturdy wood that separates the captive from the rest of the world.

The said captive is none other than Lady Y/n. “let me go…Maedhros don’t go. I must stop him,” you continue pleading to the elf who has long left the walls of the castle. 

“My Lady,” Ailya tries to call for you. 

Followed by shuffling is you eager voice, “Ai Ailya, by Eru you are here! Please let me out. Ask these guards to let me go. I need to stop Maedhros…he’s gone…no no no he can’t no Baldur call Baldur,” your voice raises unlike the soft pleading before. You sound out of breath as you plead to Ailya who fruitlessly tries to comfort you. 

“Ailya please please I beg you stop Maedhros,” hysteria fills your voice. “He cannot go…not like Baldur. Stop him,” Nothing budges the guards who keep you locked by the orders of their lord. 

Food, sleep, and comfort of any sort leaves you. Leaving behind a wraith. In a way, Lord Maedhros has announced your doom. Ailya stays next to the door for weeks, trying to help you. 

No burned notes, no hushed secrets, no siblings, no locked doors would spare Lord Maedhros of this grief. The grief of the loss of a spouse, of a fading spouse.

The sight of Elros and Elrond, surrounded by the aftermath of their kin's bloodshed, halts Maedhros in his tracks. Their appearance bears no resemblance to the descriptions you've given of Baldur. Their features don't carry a hint of your characteristics or Maedhros' likeness.

Yet, there's something about them that triggers a memory deep within him – a glimpse, a fleeting moment he once experienced when you first visited him with your son, who was at that point of time cradled in your arms. How deeply Baldur's eyes had searched for him. Even as a child in your arms, his son had tried to look past his father;s rejection.

It was a time when he foolishly turned you both away, mistaking his own flesh and blood as belonging to another. In that moment, when he saw you both leave, Maedhros felt a pang of regret, a sting of longing for the son he never knew.

Now, in the face of the Peredhel twins, the floodgates of grief he has kept restrained for ages begin to open. Surrounded by the weight of his sins and the memory of his losses, Maedhros allows himself a brief respite. The sword that has served as a symbol of his responsibilities, his duty, is sundered, his sins momentarily stepping back as he mourns.

This is a rare moment of release, a break from the relentless burden he's carried since the day you were taken from him. You were torn from his side even before he could return from his patrol, your departure orchestrated by Mandos himself. It was his doing – his refusal to listen to your pleas, to see your fear, that led to your demise. He had locked you away, shrouded in his own selfish justifications of duty and authority, as he went about his responsibilities.

He had been the reason. It wasn’t the grief of Baldur’s demise that killed you but the fear for his life that did. Maedhros deserved every ounce of pain that it lent him. He had been the one to leave you locked in the room for the sake of his subjects and his territory. He had not spared a moment’s considerations to your pleading. You had begged him to stay back. He did not care.

Instead, bound by duty, Lord of Hirming had resorted to locking you in his room as he fulfilled his role. He had ignored your fear. How did he not understand the turmoil of your heart? How scared would you have been? Alone.

And when Maedhros had returned, he found the latched door and vigilant guards. But he also found Ailya, right by your door. Except he did not find the determination of a healer in her eyes but the resignation of fate. 

Behind the closed doors lay plates full of untouched food, umade bed, unkempt room. How could he have done something so heinous to you? Something he had borne in the halls of the dark lord.

There was no resentment on your face. The dead seldom carry it. Only proof of your agony was your bloodied fist that had knocked on the door for days. Hand tissues were torn and your nails cracked and broken. Nothing else betrayed your pain. 

How scared, how terrified must you have been…

By the Havens of Sirion, Maedhros dares look at the children who remind him of his son. In the moments of peace he can’t help but imagine how much they would have endeared you. 

As the flames of his end close in around him, Maedhros' thoughts turn to you, the woman he loved and wronged. In the searing heat that mirrors the pain within his heart, he wonders if you would forgive him once more. Could you find it in your heart to let go of the resentment, the suffering he caused, and embrace him again?

In the throes of his impending doom, Maedhros yearns for redemption, for a chance to be reunited with you and Baldur. He envisions a scene where he holds his son as he has done for the twins, Elros and Elrond. This thought carries both hope and regret – hope for a future where his mistakes are forgiven, and regret for the time he lost, the love he denied himself.

As the flames consume him, Maedhros clings to the possibility that in death, he might find a glimpse of the love he lost – a sight of you and Baldur together, a chance to finally make amends, and a moment to hold his family close, even if it's in the realm beyond life.

[akixxsstuff]

Monster

Death Note L Lawliet x gender neutral reader

Fluff // Angst // One shot

Summary: You and your boyfriend L get your hands on a lie detector test and decide to mess around with it during a date night. L is hooked up first and you ask him what his biggest fear is.

"What's your biggest fear?" you ask.

L pasues for a moment.

"Monsters. Especially ones who lie, their cunning and pose as humans even though they have no understanding of the human heart; they seek friendship even though they do not know how to love. If I was to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by them... because in truth, I am that monster".

(Actual quote from L).

The lie detector remains still, there was no change in heart beat, breathing or sweat levels. L was telling the truth.

"You are cunning, very cunning and because of that you're afraid of other liars because as one, you know how far they'll go to manipulate. You lie because you don't see anything wrong with it because you've repressed emotions like love and empathy. You've been isolated your whole life so you haven't had the chance to learn how to love".

"But you do have a strong understanding of why and how others feel since you constantly put yourself in the shoes of criminals, you can't predict their next move without determining how they feel".

"You didn't have to date me to learn the various ways you could take advantage of me, so why be with me? Now all that you can gain from our relationship is love, so why would you be with me if you didn't care about love?".

"We've been together for almost a year and a half and you've really changed. You're more upfront with your emotional needs, you've become more giving and are now brave enough to explore intimacy".

"Maybe you were a monster before, but I know you aren't anymore. I'm 100 percent sure if it".

L slowly raises from his chair and places his hand on your cheek, lovingly stroking it with his thumb. Tears were now trickling down his face, this was the first time you've seen L cry. He then collapses into your lap and starts sobbing.

You spent the last year and half searching for L's heart and finally managed to find it despite how deep it was within him. You had now completely ripped it out of his chest which is something L's hands never had the strength to do.

"I-I...I" L chokes, "You're so precious too me, I can't believe...thank you for saving me, for loving me. I don't d-deserve you Y/N".

"Lawliet..." You softy quiver.

"I understand if you say no...but trust me when I say that I'll never ask anyone else this question" L says looking up at you.

"Tell me baby" you coo with tears welling up.

"Marry me... please...I never want... Please don't ever leave me" L cries.

"I would only leave a monster".

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 The Insulindian Miracle

BACKYARD WALL - Just an ordinary wall. Nothing to see here.

[Conceptualization - Impossible 18] Why am I looking at this wall?

+2 In the dimming light, some things become clearer. +1 You have a keen aesthetic sensibility. +2 Cindy's artistic impulses are infectious. +1 Dresscode: Pseudo-SKULL.

This is the most bonuses we can get on this check.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Impossible: Success] - Because -- you see it, finally -- this wall is *sublime*! LOOK AT IT! The shadows, the colours...

(Let the conceptual joy flow into your pupils and blossom into thoughts in your brain.)

CONCEPTUALIZATION - All the other walls on all the other houses must make a pilgrimage in adoration of this, the uncontested pinnacle of wall-craft. Colour peeled from the very face of god.

More!

CONCEPTUALIZATION - O WALLFATHER!

+1 Morale

"Kim! I *must* paint this wall, add even MORE beauty to it."

No. There is nothing to add to perfection. (Back off.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Huh?"

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - He sounds tired of it all.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - You already have the heavy fuel oil to use as paint -- it's red! -- and Cindy the SKULL has a paintbrush. This is on.

"First, I know you're tired, Kim, but take another look at this wall. Draw *nourishment* from its beauty."

"I already have the paint. Just need to get a paintbrush from Cindy the SKULL."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Mhm, sure." The lieutenant looks up at the wall reluctantly, then back at you.

"I already have the paint. Just need to get a paintbrush from Cindy the SKULL."

KIM KITSURAGI - He sighs, then adds in a resigned tone: "If you must."

New task: Add even more beauty to the wall

[Leave.]

Hey, Cindy?

CINDY THE SKULL - "Hello again, officers. Have you come to admire my mural?"

6. "Cindy, I'm going to need your paintbrush.""

CINDY THE SKULL - "What for?"

"I'm doing renovation. It's boring, but necessary."

"For my motor carriage. We're going undercover."

"The apocalypse is coming. I need to warn people."

"For art. It's for art, okay?"

CINDY THE SKULL - "But boring. You're not using my lovely brush to spread boredom."

2. "For my motor carriage. We're going undercover."

CINDY THE SKULL - "I ain't helping no pigs fool honest, upstanding citizens. I'm not an *antisocial element*."

3. "The apocalypse is coming. I need to warn people."

+1 Apocalypse Cop

CINDY THE SKULL - "What do you think I'm trying to paint here -- a mural for a better tomorrow? Why do you really need it?"

4. "For art. It's for art, okay?"

CINDY THE SKULL - "Well, if it's for *art*... But..." Her eyes narrow to slits. "What kind of art are we talking about?"

"To be honest, I haven't really thought of anything yet… But I'm sure I will."

"Everything is sad and shit and we need art to make it okay. Just give me the brush."

"*Grand* art. Art DeLuxe. The artsy-est, the most ground breaking, the..."

+1 Sorry Cop

CINDY THE SKULL - "Sounds like you're just about to live out your self pity, not make a statement. I can't have shit art on my conscience."

"Cool. No brush then. Not a problem."

"You'll see. You will *all* see and tremble."

"To crush a man's dreams like that… I hope you're happy."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Yeah... Not gonna hold my breath, piggy. You look like you'd suck. At... everything really," she quickly adds.

This check has a -2 *penalty* for the SKULL-fit. Better change.

HALF LIGHT- Tremble. THE TIME IS NOW. τὰ ὅλα.

What time?

Yeah... I don't think the time is *now*. Later maybe. [Leave.]

HALF LIGHT- Time for THE SHOW. For τὰ ὅλα. The hallowed time of fear and disintegration. A countdown has begun. All will collapse on itself. The world will disappear into a single grain of blackness. All sound will be muted. All life will scream.

What time?

τὰ ὅλα? What's that?

Wait, wait -- when did this *countdown* begin?

This is because of the insane world-ending I've been saying isn't it? (Proceed.)

Yeah... I don't think the time is *now*. Later maybe. [Leave.]

HALF LIGHT- οῦ λόγου δ' ἐόντος ξυνοῦ ζώουσιν οἱ πολλοὶ ὡς ἰδίαν ἔχοντες φρόνησιν.

3. Wait, wait -- when did this *countdown* begin?

HALF LIGHT- Monday morning. The moment you arrived in this reality. You are the first crack in the sheer face of god. From you it will spread.

5. Yeah... I don't think the time is *now*. Later maybe. [Leave.]

HALF LIGHT - No. You cannot *leave*. The countdown has not yet reached XERO.

4. This is because of the insane world-ending I've been saying isn't it? (Proceed.)

HALF LIGHT - Yes. You spoke the words of the παλίντροπος, and the houses of Perikarnassis. Items, people, even WORDS will tumble, all will lose its meaning in the coming years. That is why you marked yourself.

Am I sure it's not just a joke, or some kind of coping mechanism?

I'm... a little afraid.

I *do* think the world might end soon. (Opt in.)

Uhm… yeah, I'm going to opt out of the 'παλίντροπος' whatever it is. This was a mistake. (Opt out.)

HALF LIGHT - It's *totally* also a coping mechanism.

2. I'm... a little afraid.

HALF LIGHT - So you should be. The world island crumbles at your feet and in the far plain -- παλίντροπος.

VOLITION [Trivial: Success] - Perhaps -- just a thought -- this has something to do with the hangover?

3. I *do* think the world might end soon. (Opt in.)

HALF LIGHT - The face of the woman fractures. There will be herd killing. We all become vapour.

Thought gained: Cop of the Apocalypse

COP OF THE APOCALYPSE

Temporary research bonus: -1 Rhetoric: Rambling madness Research time: 6h 55 m

You woke up in a hotel room and started rambling about the end of the world. It's not your normal everyday doom-crying, either. Something truly colossal is approaching -- the Gloaming. The Culling. The Bloodletting of Unimaginable Proportions. Until now you've been *pleasantly* vague about the precise nature of this cataclysm. No more! Put the Bloodletting on the burner and *really* figure out what's threatening the fragile physical reality you just found yourself in.

6. [Conceptualization - Impossible 18] Attempt to explain your artistic intentions.

+1 You're aware of Cindy's living conditions.

This... still doesn't seem very doable, but I guess there's nothing for it but to try.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Impossible: Failure] - They do say the painter always paints his own portrait.

"I'm going to paint a self-portrait, but sort of, you know, *from the inside*, to show people what it's like."

Man, that's lame...

CONCEPTUALIZATION - No-no. It's great.

"I'm going to paint a self-portrait, but sort of, you know, *from the inside*, to show people what it's like."

CINDY THE SKULL - "That's pretty fucked up, even for you, piggo."

"Stop belittling me, Cindy!"

"What if I add some interpretive dance?"

"Okay, I won't do that. Please just give me some paint and a brush. I need to do some art."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Stop quivering like jello, then you won't get fucked."

-1 Morale

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - But that would mean he *doesn't* say every pathetic thing that pops in his head.

2. "What if I add some interpretive dance?"

CINDY THE SKULL - She looks you up and down. "I think everyone would rather you didn't."

3. "Okay, I won't do that. Please just give me some paint and a brush. I need to do some art."

CINDY THE SKULL - "You're a real sad sack, you know that? Go ahead, then." She drops the paintbrush at your feet. "Art it up. Just try not to hurt yourself. And *no self portraits*."

"Thanks, Cindy." (Pick up the brush.)

Item gained: Cindy's brush

CINDY THE SKULL - "Sure, any time. Us *shit* artists have to help one another." She looks down at the wall and frowns. "Besides, I was out of fuel oil anyway."

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - She only gave it to you because she doesn't see you as competition.

As implied here, Cindy will actually *not* give us the brush if we succeed in impressing her here.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - The right idea is not coming to her. It's excruciating.

You know what you've got in that fuel canister you scavenged from your Kineema? Red-dyed heavy fuel oil. Paint and a brush -- you're ready to do this.

6. "Catch you later, Cindy." [Leave.]

CINDY'S BRUSH

A paintbrush belonging to Cindy the Skull, an aspiring artist. Its bristles smell nauseatingly of heavy fuel oil. Specks of red, orange, and green paint cover the aluminium ferrule.

We won't paint the wall right now, but we're also going to very quickly talk to Joyce while we're out here.

JOYCE MESSIER - "You're back. Good." She takes a sip from her silvery thermal cup. "What can I help you with?"

2. "So I've been dealing with Evrart again..."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Hmh," she nods with well-contained curiosity.

VOLITION [Trivial: Success] - She's not even asking you anything. It's so easy to just say...

4. "He asked me to open a door."

JOYCE MESSIER - "A referral, you mean? I take it this was for someone in the RCM..." She waves her hand. "Don't answer that."

DRAMA [Challenging: Success] - My liege, this woman has half-convinced herself already. All it would take is a little nudge...

"Yes, a referral."

"No, I mean like a real door. To someone's house."

JOYCE MESSIER - She nods, carefully, as though handling a match near a powder keg. "Such referrals may sometimes get you information from a man like Evrart," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Did it?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Detective, I advise you to be *very* selective with what information you choose to share. This may have consequences beyond our line-of-sight."

"The Union's militant wing organized the lynching."

"Evrart says the Wild Pines sent mercenaries after the Union -- and now one's dead."

"Evrart asked the Union's militant wing to fully cooperate with the investigation."

"I told him about the mercenary tribunal -- he didn't seem too worried."

"That's all I've got to say."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes," she leans slightly closer: "That's the talk about town. The *Hardie boys* they're called..." A crooked smile returns to her face. "I find the name rather amusing, honestly."

2. "Evrart says the Wild Pines sent mercenaries after the Union -- and now one's dead."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Misinformation..." She shakes her head vigorously. "This is all because we haven't shared information on the lynching yet. See, already the adversary uses it to their advantage. Don't let him."

"Hurry up on that probe. The moment you tell me you're finished at the traffic jam, I will *gladly* tell you the company's side of the story."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - She must really want you to look into the drugs -- otherwise she'd tell you.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - She was *worried* for a moment. That she's overplayed her hand by not sharing info sooner. Then she settles down, curious to hear more.

Didn't we already do that? This may have been the wrong dialogue.

3. "Evrart asked the Union's militant wing to fully cooperate with the investigation."

JOYCE MESSIER - "How benevolent," she thinks for a second. "Hopefully they'll help you sort this whole business out... if they haven't already?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "While we appreciate your assistance, ma'am, I'm afraid we can't discuss the specifics of an ongoing investigation with you."

JOYCE MESSIER - She nods. "That is only fair."

"I have reason to believe the lynching was a cover-up."

"I've said all I can."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Oh my... *very* interesting. So the militant wing is protecting one of their own..."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Her mind races to the conclusion that most benefits her interests. That doesn't mean she's wrong, though.

JOYCE MESSIER - "It looks like you may untie this knot yet!" Her eyes smile and a tingle runs down your spine.

+5 XP

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - There's something in you that really likes the way she's looking at you just now.

+1 Morale

4. "I told him about the mercenary tribunal -- he didn't seem too worried."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Brinkmanship -- or sabre-rattling... Was he surrounded by *Union men* he wanted to impress?"

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - No. It was more like he wanted things to get *worse* -- in secret of course.

"We were alone. And he seems very sure of his ability to keep things in control."

"He wasn't trying to impress anyone. I think he *wants* things to escalate."

"You're right. He was probably just showing off to me."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Or he wants you and me to *believe* he wants to go to war."

DRAMA [Challenging: Success] - Of course. Brinkmanship takes showmanship. We should have seen it before, in his office. He might well have been performing for us.

KIM KITSURAGI - "There's always that risk, ma'am. But if I may offer my opinion..."

"He means it."

"I think he may have just been messing with us."

"Kim's right. I'm pretty sure he meant it."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'll think it over, detective. Thank you for relaying this information to me."

+5 XP

VOLITION [Medium: Success] - She tries to hide it, but some *great doubt* is spreading within her. There is a crown slowly cracking above her head.

What's this *great doubt* you're talking about?

"Ma'am? Is everything alright?"

VOLITION - You can't say. Only that she's hiding the magnitude of it from you.

"Ma'am? Is everything alright?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "What? Yes, of course. Everything's fine. Perhaps there's more gossip you'd like to share?"

5. "That's all I've got to say."

JOYCE MESSIER - "What you've said is quite enough. You have given me a lot to consider -- and may have helped me prevent this conflict from escalating."

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - Hear that, hero? Feels good, doesn't it? You should relay confidential information more often.

5. "He asked me to deliver an envelope."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Sounds like he has you running errands, detective. A well-established dominance ritual..." She thinks. "Where did he have you deliver it?"

"To a nameless settlement, down the coast. Nearby."

"Nowhere. Let's change the topic."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Ah yes, I've been meaning to go there..." She looks over the bay.

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - With longing... clear and simple longing. Strange. Why does she want to go there?

"He wants to build a youth centre here. For the children of Martinaise."

"You're quite fond of this village, aren't you?"

"So you're sad you can't buy the place?" (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "A youth centre with Edgar Claire's statue on top of it..." Her eyes run across the water, remorsefully.

"Go ahead, help him. Make it so. I have no power to stop him."

2. "You're quite fond of this village, aren't you?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "I should be." She nods -- there's that crooked smile again. "In my youth I had a brief dalliance here in Martinaise. He was an older man, with impossibly broad shoulders..."

"He's probably dead by now -- even his shack is long gone… not that it matters. These buildings are all carbon copies of one another."

"When you were a teen? *Slumming* it, like you told me before?"

"You've been to Martinaise before?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'm glad to see your *short-term* memory appears intact. In any case, I wasn't a *teen* anymore, I would have been in my early twenties. I remember a distinctly *vile* disco track..."

"Disco isn't vile."

"Disco *is* vile."

"Sounds like you miss those times."

JOYCE MESSIER - "It is -- but not as vile as me..." She looks over the bay, her green eyes shining.

"Sounds like you miss those times."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Not overly so. It's not like this was the only place we visited -- me and my girlfriends from Ozonne with our shiny boats, like reavers..."

"We told ourselves we were the worst thing to happen to the coast since the Coalition landed in '08. Imagine!" She tosses her head.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Oh no -- she's sentimental all right.

"If you say so."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'm over-radiated, Harry," she sprouts. "I do silly things sometimes -- out of pale-related illness. Like take this job. The moral of the story is..." she lists:

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - So it was a factor in her coming to Martinaise in the first place? Interesting.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Do not spend 22 days a year in pale transit, don't waste your twenties slumming it with your stupid friends, and don't deliver Evrart Claire's mail." Her bony finger is pointed like an arrow at your chest...

"Are you satisfied, detective? What else can you tell me about your *mail delivery quest* for Evrart? Do you think it will *improve* the place?"

+5 XP

3. "So you're sad you can't buy the place?" (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes. I'm sad I will never have the time, detective -- I've always wanted a dilapidating fishing village."

RHETORIC [Easy: Success] - She is more defensive about it than usual.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Full of ghosts and ancient memories." She smiles. "Has this errand yielded you any... information?"

6. "I'd rather talk about something else for now, if you don't mind." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course, detective," she simmers down. "You can always drop by later, should something come up -- now, what else can I do you for?"

8. "Thank you. That's all for now." [Leave.]

THOUGHT COMPLETE: MOTORWAY SOUTH

BONUSES: All Intellect White checks unlocked +1 Inland Empire: The swallowing motion

SOLUTION: The lone vector stretches in your mind’s eye into the wild pale yonder. For an unimaginable distance, forgetting, forgetting... Until you can no longer remember anything – no cities, no mountains, no oceans. And finally – no vector. Nothing remains. A blank space with no point of reference, where only one type of motion is possible. The motion of a human throat, swallowing. And then it comes to you: to reach the end of the Motorway South is to be *unborn*. You've had this thought before while aimlessly wandering the streets of Jamrock. A lost piece of the man you were. A dark hope.

This unlocked the checks to open the Cargo Container Door, get Gaston's sandwich, and identify the source of the Expression.

Ok, let's do the thing we actually *voted* on.

🎵 Whirling-in-Rags, 8PM

We have reasons to talk to basically everyone here. But first, there's someone we *weren't* expecting...

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Hi, gendarme. Another rendezvous." There he is again -- the smoker on the balcony! Right here in the Whirling-in-Rags.

+5 XP

"Hi."

"Hello."

"You're here!"

[Leave.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "I see you've found yourself a little something from my wardrobe." He scans you. "Not bad, not bad at all. What brings you here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Tell me again about that *muscular type* who came to investigate the crime."

"I met your Sunday friend."

[Composure - Legendary 14] What is it about the way he carries himself?

"About the hat and the robe I'm wearing..."

[Leave.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Admiring the atmosphere..." He smiles. "What about you, officer?"

"I live here, my room is right upstairs."

"I'm here to kick some ass and solve the case I'm working on."

"I don't know what I'm doing here. I just go wherever life takes me."

Unfortunately we cannot tell him we're here for *karaoke*, because we have already done that.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Well, here's to you!" He raises a glass, before taking a sip of his drink, froth grazing his mouth.

2. "Tell me again about that *muscular type* who came to investigate the crime."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Oh, yes... let's see. He knocked on my door a few days after the lynching. I think he was going through the entire building, asking questions."

"What did you tell him?"

"What did he look like?"

"Was he alone?"

"Besides *muscular*, did he have any other identifying traits?"

"Thanks for the information."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Nothing. That I didn't see anything."

"And he believed you?"

"Did you tell him about your friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Why shouldn't he?"

"Did you tell him about your friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - He takes another drag of his cigarette before knitting his brows. "What friend?"

"Your Sunday friend, the witness."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "No, I don't think it came up."

2. "What did he look like?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Muscular. Handsome." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Strong. Like one of those military types."

3. "Was he alone?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Yes, but he was speaking to someone on his earpiece."

"His earpiece?"

"What was he saying?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Yes, you know those tiny speaker-microphones that fancy security guards sometimes wear."

"What was he saying?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Just reporting back whatever I was telling him."

4. "Besides *muscular*, did he have any other identifying traits?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Oh, let me think..." He turns his eyes upward in recollection. "He had an accent. He sounded like one of those mercenaries."

"He sounded vaguely Oranjese." He closes his eyes. "No, not vaguely, scratch that. He sounded *definitely* Oranjese."

5. "Thanks for the information."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Sure. Anything else on your mind?" His lazy eyes stroll over your face.

3. "I met your Sunday friend."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "You did?" A small smile adorns his face. "And how did you like him?"

"You were right, he was magical. Magically bureaucratic."

"I didn't like him as much as I like you."

"I didn't. He's a government official. I don't trust governments."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Aw, shoot." He bursts out laughing. "Why not?"

"Who is he?"

"What are you, you two?"

"Why was he staying at your place in the middle of night?"

"I don't want to talk about other people, I want to talk about you."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "A visitor from the first world. He's not like you and me, gendarme." He smiles and his smile seems melancholic. "He can always return."

"Return where?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "To his opportunities in Occident, Sur-la-Clef. Still..." He breathes in and keeps his lungs filled for a moment, before letting it out. "His coming and going brings some life to the village."

"Or is it just money, I don't know..." He stares at the bar.

2. "What are you, you two?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Friends, I told you. Sunday friends. Friends who like to get together from time to time."

"What does it mean -- a Sunday friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - He sighs: "That he won't be there when times get tough, I guess."

"Is that even a friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "It is -- on Sundays." He smiles.

3. "Why was he staying at your place in the middle of night?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "He has keys. And he likes the view..." He waves gently with his cigarette-holding hand. "To the sea, I mean."

4. "I don't want to talk about other people, I want to talk about you."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Hmm?" He hums. "What about me, gendarme?"

5. "About the hat and the robe I'm wearing…"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "You can keep it, I don't mind. I can appreciate beauty when I see it."

"I wasn't really planning on giving it back anyway."

"Thanks. It's like carrying a piece of you with me at all times."

"I took it to blend in. I'm undercover, you see?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Is it now?" He starts laughing. "Well, enjoy it."

4. [Composure - Legendary 14] What is it about the way he carries himself?

+1 He's so different.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] - It's the sports, he's a sports guy, all about that physical prowess and athletic skill... Nothing else here.

6. [Leave.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Bye-bye, gendarme."

A woman's hand wrote yesterday's menu. Today's starts in a man's writing.

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Ah, 'Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns,' right?" The cafeteria manager is waiting for you to acknowledge that he recognized the song.

[linabirb]

Deep Cover ENG Translyrics

*shaking* hhi so i've mentioned a few times that i actually sort of. write translyrics a-and i wrote these like. in an hour. i am not insane btw. i am so normal.

a note: we don't have an official eng translation rn and i do learn japanese and can speak it a little bit, but i am definitely not fluent, so there can be some mistakes and also these lyrics might not be the most accurate because i changed some stuff to add more rhythm (?) to the lyrics and just because i thought it sounded cool. but i still tried my best to keep it as similar to the original ones as possible!

also i do write translyrics often but i don't have that much experience with translating stuff to english so. um. pls be nice ;w;

i wish i could add a recording of me singing it to show how they're supposed to sound, but. my voice is too weak for this song djdkkd i think these should sound good though :'D

(UNDER)

Feeding off of you, don't say it's over

(UNDER)

I've achieved my goal, but it's still getting colder

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

My rage can't be stopped, can't be stopped!

You're so lame!

(UNDER)

The queen is here, that's the role she's playing

(UNDER)

You think a thief like you can save them?

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

My love can't be stopped, can't be stopped!

It's so hard!

I wonder who should I get rid of?

Oh, you're guilty? It's what you deserve

That's why I have become your fangs and claws

The hero that everyone has been waiting for

My answer? You should already know

"Stop it, please" Oh, please, I thought you wanted more

Why would you stop me now?

A mission, a motive and a goal, that's what I need

I beg you, beg you now

Please give me my next reason to live

(UNDER)

Put your mask on, king, and don't stop faking

My faith's too strong and you'll never break it

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

It's true, I forgot, I forgot!

I'm so bored!

(UNDER)

Your memories are lost inside this prison

(UNDER)

Wish to defeat me? How funny, what's your reason?

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

Let's go and knock this damn door down!

That's why you have become my reason to live

What you're waiting for, go and choose "Not forgive"

Empathy is an illusion, don't listen to it

Evil is evil and that's what you have to defeat

Why would you stop me now?

A mission, a motive and a goal, that's what I need

I beg you, beg you now

Please give me my next reason to live

(UNDER)

(UNDER)

What I'm looking for has to be correct and just

This hopeless future, I want it to be crushed

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

I'm the one that you can trust

That's why I have become your fangs and claws

The hero that everyone has been waiting for

My answer? You should already know

"Stop it, please" Oh, please, I thought you wanted more

Why would you stop me now?

A mission, a motive and a goal, that's what I need

I beg you, beg you now

Please give me my next reason to live (x2)

(UNDER)

Number one! A parasite, good for nothing

(UNDER)

Number two! A slut that has no shame

(UNDER)

Number four! A queen wearing a fake crown

(UNDER)

Number five! Cutting them open, failure of a savior

(UNDER)

Number seven! A liar wanting to stay hidden

(UNDER)

Number eleven! A useless prison warden

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

Can you stay behind, stay behind, just shut up

Translation notes:

"Feeding off of you" is a reference to Kotoko calling Haruka a parasite and "don't say it's over" is a reference to Haruka's relationship with his mother and "wanting her to hug him again as she once did".

"The queen is here, that's the role she's playing'' I really wanted to keep the "queen game" part, but I just couldn't make it sound good, so at least we have this :')

"You really think a thief like you can save them?" The original one had "stealer" but I thought "thief" sounds better in this version!

"It's true, I forgot, I forgot!" At first I wanted to keep the "can't be stopped" bit, but I just really couldn't come up with anything related to it and then I thought that Mikoto having a part that sounds different would be really cool in a way.

"Wish to defeat me? How funny, what's your reason?" Please feel free to correct me, but I genuinely don't know if Kotoko is asking Es if they want to "defeat" her or if she's talking about Es assuming that Kotoko wants to "defeat" them, it doesn't help that she also says "Laughable justice" after this, but I went with the first option.

"This hopeless future, I want it to be crushed" The original lyrics mention the "dirty future" and I. Have no idea what she means by that, so I went with this.

"Number one! A parasite, good for nothing" LISTEN, HER SAYING EVERYONE'S NUMBERS LIKE THAT SOUNDS COOL. Also, I really did want everyone's parts to rhyme, but I just couldn't come up with anything and all my ideas sounded weird, so I decided to keep it this way, sort of like Kotoko is yelling at them and really calling them out?

[dittydipity]

finally got around to finishing the finale of the ghost trick remaster. i've played and watched this ending more times than i can count but it's still so SO good.

all of my insane thoughts and overanalysis/overthinking under the cut

when the last portion/chapter of a game or book is called 'final chapter' or the title of the story.. GRRRRRRGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

when the four of them are discussing what to do and they're like "we might not be able to change your fate of dying" and yomiel is just. "i can accept that." 😭😭

^ HE SAYS WITH A SMILE. AUGH.

man no matter how many times i see it, yomiel getting flung back and impaled on the post never fails to make me flinch

ough.

These long, lonely ten years…

you were my one and only friend.

How about it?

Do you remember now...

*spotlight, the reveal*

...old friend?

SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING THROWING UP THE WAY THIS STORY IS TOLD

NOT TRAUMA KICKING IN 😭

he finally rember after so long of forgor...

and then the whole retelling of the story by sissel and yomiel where they narrate interchangeably without any indication of who is talking but you can still tell who's narrating hewioagljadsklfajds

Somebody, please reach a hand out to me... //

My body wouldn't move, but I still managed to reach out a "hand" to him.

ueueueue them finding the comfort they sought and needed in each other because at our cores, we all need connections..

catboy yomiel real and canon

Those ten years were very happy for me.

But they weren't happy for the man...

and there was nothing I could do for him.

^ LINE THAT PEOPLE DO NOT TALK ABOUT ENOUGH. god these lines hit so hard bc it's like. when all you want is for someone you love to be happy and you're trying your hardest and you're giving everything but you just don't know and you just can't understand that there just isn't any way for you to help, no matter how much you want to..

man just. imagine that when you finally think you're going to be free. that after so many years of limbo you think you're finally going to get what you've wanted. and when you get to the final steps of your plan, you find that your best friend, the only person keeping you afloat throughout this whole time, just died. because of you.

AUGHGGHHGHGHGGHHG GOD. GOD GOD GOD.

THE UNIMAGINABLE GRIEF AND REGRET. AND THE KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU WILL HAVE TO EXIST UNTIL THE END OF TIME WITH THESE BURDENS

jowd being the one to say this is so good. bc out of all the people, he might be the one that understands yomiel the most. yomiel's entire goddamn existence and everything he's believed and been forced to endure has finally been righted. jowd's own predicament and resulting fate change from this whole ordeal is also incredibly drastic, but that's what makes him the one who most closely relates to yomiel. yomiel's twisted, revenge-fueled desire to make jowd feel the same pain he felt turns into empathy and understanding.

I'M CRAZY. I'M CRAZZY

do you ever think about how, for the 4 of them (sissel, yomiel, jowd, missile), they have 20 years of memories overlapping each other in a 10y period? if not more, from all the rewinding and trial error of this one night? when they "return" to the new present that is born from this final aversion of fate, do they just find themselves in a completely different place in life, with a whole entire set of memories? do they just. slide "back" into place in this new timeline and replace the placeholder version of them that existed in those 10y that were completely changed, all of a sudden now with all of that version's memories and experiences?

how disorienting and confusing and discombobulating would that be, to suddenly have two completely different versions of the same period of time in your head

it's not as bad for missile, since he's only two years old when the events of the game happen, and so "only" has 2y worth of memories that overlap, but for sissel and yomiel and jowd...

and the fact that only the four of them will remember. sissel and missile are fine, as animals, but for yomiel and jowd.. how often did the people around them think they were insane, talking about things that never happened and knowing things that they shouldn't know, breaking down over things that remind them of this overwritten timeline

When we go back, our fates will no longer be interconnected.

It will be like we never met...

hiweoaghlkjadslkfjkl and in that new timeline, yomiel's one and only friend, the only being he could have called a friend in those years of limbo from the previous timeline, now has nothing to do with him.

and so before that happens, he has to apologize for everything he made sissel go through. even though sissel chose to stay by his side, it's only human nature to feel guilty for something you can't help. he needs this solace.

and sissel gives it to him.

all these four can do is hope that the stars will align and the gods that started this whole mess will allow them to meet once again

-> RAY. DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON RAY.

these have to be some of the most genuine, heartfelt lines in the game, alongside the thanks that yomiel gives sissel.

not me getting sad about ray's reluctance to even talk about himself. oh boy.

his reluctance to reveal just how much he messed up and failed. how hard he tried and how much he's sacrificed just to help his friends. telling this almost complete outsider how much of a failure he was and expecting them to understand his selfish, selfish reasons

can you imagine? waiting for 10 years to pin all your hopes and sacrifices on this stranger that didn't stop to give you the time of day the first time. and if they don't help you this time, everything would have been for nothing. having to just stand back and watch as everything happens this second time around because you can't risk messing it up this time.

doing all of this knowing that, whether things work out or not this time, you're going to disappear at the end.

Of course!

Because that's what doggies do!

🥺🥺🥺🥺😭

<EPILOGUE>

the wave of relief and satisfaction when reincarnation starts..

From just that single night as a human, I got a glimpse into their world.

And I learned something...

Their fates, their lives - they were all interconnected...

Somewhere, somehow, in some way.

And, now, this is MY new fate.

literally just in awe at this story.

the reveal of sissel's new fate w the next lines.. one of the most fulfilling, complete endings and feelings of closure i've ever gotten from a game.

It suits me just fine to curl up and watch...

...watch the strange and beautiful patterns of their lives as they unfold.

And it looks like...

...I'll have plenty to watch

here for quite a while.

and the credits song kicking in.. the way it's timed perfectly with the final reveal and snaps to the main theme in time with the end of sissel's speech. it's SO satisfying.

and the fact that the credits song is a remix of the main theme that we've heard so much throughout the game as a way to end each chapter with a sense of mystery, but this final time, it's triumphant. it's the same tune but this time we've solved everything. everything is going to be okay.

i love you ghost trick

[livethrushit]

so im a first-time watcher of better call saul & have not looked into any analysis/commentary yet bc im not done and i dont want to find spoilers.

watching s3e9 made me realize we as the viewers get our real first taste of what it's like to be chuck, someone who can barely handle any shred of empathy towards jimmy. obviously streaming has changed a lot, but they spent about 4 years making you feel empathetic to whatever the fuck jimmy was up to bc he seems like an overall good guy. thinking about mike's quote where he says there's the law, you either follow it, or you don't and that's when you're considered a criminal.

but being a criminal does not mean you're an inherently bad person or doing something morally wrong. and most of jimmy's antics at this point are usually at the expense of rich pricks who intentionally hurt people. he goes above and beyond to help those he loves, like Painfully above and beyond. even when they hate him, even when they can't stand to be near him. he's as smart as chuck but in a morally different way and it makes him interesting compared to the straight laced intelligence of chuck.

then he does it: he needs money like yesterday and in dire straits he pulls a long con on an innocent, kind person. and it is brutal to watch. you can't even give him the benefit of the doubt because the urgency and desperation in his actions betray any unbothered, unstoppable facade he usually props up. there's a visceral reaction to the sort of scam he's pulling this episode. it's predatory, and aimed at someone highly vulnerable. the opposite of what we've seen him doing for almost 4 years.

it feels like after all this time, we are hitting a shift towards Maybe beginning to understand chuck more. he probably really liked jimmy at one point. but watching him con the most vulnerable people in his life so many times, with distressing amounts of elaborate lies, that empathy starts to run cold. you maybe start to wonder if maybe jimmy *only* conned the rich and arrogant because he reaped a bigger reward. the people he loves are apparently not valuable enough to con unless he stands to gain something in the situation.

jimmy's deep love for kim seems surface level at best when he completely overlooks her overwhelming distress. she hasn't slept, she's losing her composure, we don't see her eat, she's burying herself in work. a lot of this is a poor coping mechanism for betraying chuck, a vulnerable man whose bitterness comes from a lifetime of watching hard scenes like the ONE scene we now have. kim is feeling the after effects of giving jimmy the benefit of the doubt, a feeling chuck knows well. it starts to harden you.

it's our turn to decide if jimmy deserves benefit of the doubt this episode.

[princeescaluswords]

I know you're not the biggest Derek fan but I just rewatched some of his scenes with Scott and I got cracked up by how consistently he campaigns for the title of President Of The Scott McCall Fan Club.

He brings this energy every time he mentions Scott to somebody:

Really weird that people think he'd *ever* badmouth him to prop up characters he canonically doesn't give a single thought to.

First, I know you sent this as a three part message, but I found things to talk about in each one, so I'm going to answer them separately!

Second, I may not be the biggest Derek Hale Fan in the world, but I am a fan. I love a well-crafted redemption arc, and Derek's story is one of the better ones I've seen. In fact, I wanted more of it. But, for me, the key to a good redemption arc is that it is an arc. For Derek to grow and change and become a better person and for it to have meaning, he had to start out in a state that, frankly, wasn't. That's why I insist in my analyses that Derek was an antagonist in Season 1 and an outright villain in Season 2.

I do have seven pages of posts on Tumblr marked anti derek hale. I wish I wouldn't have to label them that, because I do not hate Canon Derek Hale. I simply recognize that he did terrible things, and that while they were understandable within context, that doesn't make them not terrible. Yet, his manipulative treatment of the teenagers of Beacon Hills, his embrace of lethal violence as his primary strategy, and his trauma-induced selfishness all served to fulfill his role as a foil to the heroic protagonist, Scott McCall, and fans shouldn't shy away from discussing this, but I have learned that Tumblr etiquette, when it is followed, demands that negative evaluations of a character's behavior be tagged properly so people can avoid it.

I wish some of the fans who hate Scott McCall would remember that, but I digress.

But I do recognize the weirdness you are describing. To me, Derek's admiration for Scott McCall is a natural evolution. He starts out in Season 1 trying to sell Scott on the realities of his life as a werewolf (even as Derek is using him): Scott's fate is to become like him. "So you and me, Scott - We're brothers now." Derek wants a new family, one that won't be destroyed, but through tragedy, pain, and violence he learns that you can't create one using brute force -- by coercively reshaping others into versions of himself. He sees that when Scott forms his pack, his family, Scott does it by accepting his friends as they are. Scott accepts Stiles with his sarcasm and insecurity. Scott accepts Allison, with her family and all that demands. Scott doesn't want Isaac to get hurt, remembers Kira's name, and tells Liam that he's not a monster. And Scott accepts Derek, even after Derek manipulated him, beat him, sold him out to Peter, and tried to kill innocents. So by the end of Season 6, Derek has instead sold himself the idea that his goal is to become like Scott. "You came back for Beacon Hills? No. Came back for you."

And that is what parts of the fandom can't stand. With all the tragedies Derek undergoes (manipulation by Peter which causes Paige's death, manipulation by Kate which causes his family's death, manipulation by Peter again which causes Laura's death, his execution of Peter, the disasters of his attempt at a pack), they want Derek to be redeemed without the necessity for change. In other words, Derek deserves nice things, not because he earned them, but as some sort of cosmic balancing for what he has suffered (and, frankly, his identity as an attractive white man and a 'bad boy').

But this misguided empathy runs counter to the themes of the show. Scott's the heroic protagonist not because he suffers more than anyone else (and he absolutely does suffer a lot, a fact that fandom uselessly tries to deny) but because he doesn't let that suffering, that injustice, determine who he is or who he cares about. This is what makes him a True Alpha, because he could have let Peter or Derek or Gerard or Deucalion determine his nature. He could have rejected Derek and Stiles and Liam and Theo and Malia and Jackson after they attacked and hurt him. He could have wallowed in the pain caused by his mother's rejection, or his father's absence, or Allison's death, or "Some of us are human!" He could have placed his own safety and well being first, and hid or ran from Kira or the Dead Pool or the Doctors or the Beast or Monroe. But he didn't. And that's what Derek saw, and that's what Derek learned.

Instead of acknowledging that learning, those choices, and that growth, certain parts of the fandom decide that what Derek should have done is resented Scott for not allowing Derek's pain to control Scott's life. They decide that Derek thinks Scott is stupid for not thinking of the world in terms of "us vs. them." They decide that Derek's repeated submission to the tragedies of his own life couldn't possibly have made him weak -- after all, he's rich, good-looking, white, and werewolf "nobility" -- and instead of what happened to him being the consequences of his own choices, he was bedeviled by the metaphysical forces known as 'the writers.' Oh, and Evil Tree Wizard Deaton and his Moron Tyrant Protege, Scott McCall.

Yeah. It's very weird.